


He's My True North

by willowswhiten



Series: Willow's Teen Wolf Fluffy AUs [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - His Dark Materials Fusion, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Daemon Feels, Daemons, Fluff, His Dark Materials Inspired, Lawyer Derek Hale, M/M, McCall Pack, Witch Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:21:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21695305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowswhiten/pseuds/willowswhiten
Summary: Derek Hale is new in town, without a pack, and miserable. When his sister challenges him to get out and do something - anything! - to break him out of his funk, he and his daemon Tesni find themselves in downtown Beacon Hills outside what can only be described as a millennial magick shop.Stiles Stilinski wears many hats: witch, small business owner, emissary and treasurer of the Beacon Hills LGBTQA+ society. He has a full life, and absolutely isn't expecting the depression-beard rocking hunk with the intriguing aura to show up in his shop and turn everything topsy-turvy.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura
Series: Willow's Teen Wolf Fluffy AUs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1563865
Comments: 36
Kudos: 345





	1. In which chance plays a hand

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely based around the premise of The Golden Compass/Northern Lights, whereby every human has a Daemon. This is a physical manifestation of their soul, and is deeply tied to them. Men usually have female Daemons, women male - though this is by no means a hard and fast rule - and they can take any animal form they chose until they settle into their final form, around puberty. Their final form is a perfect reflection of the soul of the human.
> 
> In this fic world, supernatural creatures are known and accepted in society. For born creatures, their Daemon often aligns with their supernatural abilities, which form part of their soul. Werewolves have wolf-form Daemons, for example, unless they were turned after the Daemon had already settled into another form.
> 
> A lot of the judgement around Daemons comes from their size and place in the food chain. Most people have prey-animal Daemons, or domestic animals. People whose Daemons are massive, unwieldy, or predators are viewed with suspicion. This is one reason a lot of wolf packs live on communes in the country.
> 
> I’m not a big fan of angst, so in this AU, the fire never happened, and Derek’s extended family is alive and well.
> 
> Also, I’m British. So, apologies if you spot any errant ‘u’s or random ignorance of Yank culture ;)

Derek Hale wasn’t  _ depressed. _

He was just tired.

All the time.

And not really sleeping.

And his Daemon, Tesni, just  _ preferred _ to flop at his feet with a sigh, rather than move about.

So he was offended when his sister, Laura, decided to issue an ultimatum over Skype.

‘You need to contact the local pack, Der,’ she said, her tone firm.

Derek hated that he still responded to her Alpha voice. He hadn’t technically been a member of the family pack in years - he’d separated for university, as most wolves were encouraged to - but it was muscle memory to sit straighter when Laura ordered him about.

He glared at her. ‘No,’ he said.

‘You’re a mess. Look, when you finished school, you said you didn’t want to come back to the pack. Fine, that’s your decision. But you look like hell. Some wolves aren’t meant to be loners, Der, it’s not a criticism.’

He curled in on himself. Beside him, Tesni whimpered.

_ ‘We wanted to come home, _ ’ she said, miserable.

But his dream job was in Beacon Hills, the picturesque California town they now called home. And the pack was too far away to commute. Derek had made the decision, a decision any other non-lupine adult could have made easily.

He chose his career.

Unfortunately, Laura was right. While his work for the Supernatural Legal Aid Fund was hugely enriching, Derek wasn’t a non-lupine adult.

He was a beta wolf without a pack, and he was miserable.

He’d  _ tried _ to introduce himself to a member of the local pack - the McCall pack. He’d run into a handsome young man with an easy smile in the grocery store, after a twelve-hour day of advocating for desperate people.

He’d been staring at the milk. The colours of the labels meant something, he knew, but he was damned if he could remember  _ what _ .

‘Hi!’

The voice was chipper, friendly, but it held a note Derek instantly knew was  _ alpha _ .

And, like an idiot puppy, he’d instinctively shrugged his shoulders forward, making himself smaller, and shown his neck.

There’d been a long, awkward pause, and when he’d looked up, the young Alpha looked absolutely baffled.

‘Um,’ he’d said, ‘you… I mean, you’re new in town? Usually, new wolves come say hello? I’m Scott McCall.’

Alpha McCall clearly thought Derek was a rude idiot with the instincts of a newly turned omega. Derek had blushed, furiously, and his gaze had fallen on McCall’s Daemon.

Which was… a small, chocolate brown spaniel with a wildly expressive tail.

He knew it was rude to stare, but McCall was an alpha, and it just didn’t make any sense. McCall followed his gaze, and laughed awkwardly.

‘She settled before I was turned.’

‘Derek Hale,’ he’d said, very suddenly. He’d indicated Tesni, whose form took that of a massive European wolf. ‘I’m born, obviously. Beta. I’m a beta. Not that there’s anything wrong with turned wolves, I mean…’

He’d trailed off at the now-guarded expression on McCall’s face.

He wasn’t proud of what happened next.

He’d bolted.

Not that Laura needed to know that.

‘I’m not joining the local pack, Laura,’ he snapped, instead. ‘Drop it.’

She glared at him. 

‘Alright, Mr Grumpy Pants. In that case, you need to do one thing for me, and I’ll let you have two months of no nagging.’

Derek considered her, suspicious. Laura was manipulative, but she wasn’t a liar.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘Get a local newspaper. Open it to the events page, close your eyes, and stick your finger on the page. Then  _ go _ , to whatever event it is.’

He glared. ‘That’s stupid.’

‘Fine. Then I’m coming to visit this weekend.’

Derek stiffened. He looked around at his filthy condo. Laura stared him down across the internet, and her Daemon Tegeirian hopped up, his huge grey paws on her desk as he stared Derek down.

‘ _ If _ you do it, and send me a photo - then you’ll have two months. I’ll come visit at the end of August.’

Derek looked at Tesni, who seemed to shrug.

_ ‘We  _ are _ bored of Netflix,’ _ she said.

He looked up. ‘Fine. But only because you’re making me.’

Laura rolled her eyes and hung up on him.

Derek sat still. Tesni placed one paw on his knee and canted her head.

‘ _ C’mon. Let’s just get it out of the way.’ _

Derek sighed, and looked down at his sweats. ‘I don’t want to go outside, Tes. It’s my day off.’

‘ _ The doorman had a paper yesterday,’  _ Tesni reminded him.  _ ‘You might be alright wallowing in your filth, but I’m not. I want to stretch my paws.’ _

Derek let her bully him into sweatpants and pulled on sunglasses. Downstairs in the lobby, the doorman - a slim, elderly man with a sparrow Daemon - looked at him like he was a swamp creature.

‘Hey, buddy,’ he said, ‘you ok?’

‘I’m fine,’ Derek replied, then realised he was still wearing slippers. ‘I just… do you have a paper? A local one?’

The doorman raised an eyebrow and handed over a recent copy of  _ The Beacon _ .

‘Buddy, I know it’s none of my business, but you’re the lawyer guy, right?’

Derek nodded, half-listening, inspecting the paper.

‘You need a shave, man.’

Derek looked up, surprised, and brushed a hand over his cheek.

Sure, he’d maybe let his beard grow, but that was fashionable, right?

‘Thanks for the paper,’ he said, and headed back upstairs. 

There, just to be contrary, he ignored Tesni’s whines for attention and made himself some ramen before he collapsed on the sofa and faced the prospect of following Laura’s instruction.

He found the events page easily enough, but before he could read it, Tesni nipped at his wrist.

‘ _ Don’t look at it! You’ll remember where things are and it won’t be a real surprise.’ _

She… knew him, far too well. With a  _ huff _ , he closed his eyes, and let his index finger hover over the page. Tesni watched the proceedings, then said:  _ ‘now!’ _

Derek stabbed the page, opened his eyes, and glared at the wolf.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Absolutely not, we’re doing it again.’

‘ _ No! I’ll tell Tegeirian!’ _

While Tesni couldn’t communicate directly with Laura, she  _ could _ talk to Tegeirian next time they were together. Like Derek and Laura, the two Daemons were siblings, and Derek wasn’t a hundred percent certain that Tesni couldn’t somehow communicate with Tegeirian psychically, or across Skype.

Normal rules didn’t really apply to Daemons.

Which is how Derek found himself downtown, standing in front of a pretty blue storefront of a shop called  _ Claudia’s _ . He’d pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, but otherwise, hadn’t done much more than have a quick shower. His hair was still wet and, he was certain, he still looked like a hot mess.

That would show Laura.  _ What _ , exactly, it would show her, he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t have the energy to think about it too hard.

A sandwich board outside advertised the event.

_ Midsummer solstice extravaganza!  _

  * _All items 20% off or more_


  * 1x free reading per paying customer


  * Special guests: Beacon Hills Rescue! Meet eligible cutie pies and find a new BFF



A magick shop. Of all the bloody places.

Magick made Derek sneeze.

Except… as he stood on the pavement, looking in through the curtain of crystals and dreamcatchers in the window display, a young woman exited the shop, and the most exquisite scent followed her out, faint but clear.

It smelled like magick, but… like no magick Derek had ever scented. It smelled like limes and sandalwood, like ash and burnt sugar.

Beside him Tesni stiffened.

‘ _ Mate,’  _ she said. 

He looked at her so sharply he hurt his neck. Rubbing it, he glared at her. ‘Don’t be an idiot.’

She bristled. Her eyebrows were more distinct than most wolves’, a darker grey, and they drew close in a lupine attempt at a glare.

‘ _ I’m not an idiot. I know what I smell _ .’

And with that, she took off into the shop, using her big body to push the door open.

Derek stood stock still and ground his teeth. He felt her getting further away, like a sick pull in his stomach, and he gave in when she was about two metres from him.

With a curse, he burst in.

The shop was a hive of activity. There were beings of every size and shape in the surprisingly spacious shop floor, which included a bookshop and a giftshop-sized little boutique. A massive sign above the register proclaimed:

_ Welcome to the flagship showroom of CLAUDIAEMPORIUM.COM.  _

_ Can’t see what you need? Ask our friendly staff! Any magickal object, text, resource or supply delivered to your door. Overnight shipping available. Bulk discount does not apply to living creatures or custom-enchanted objects. _

_ Check out our app! _

It was… a millennial magick shop.

Derek was baffled.

By the giftshop, a temporary table had been set up, with a variety of animals in crates stacked up, and a small play pen full of puppies.

This was where Tesni had gone. She stood, obscenely large, nose-to-nose with a tiny, wild-looking cat quite unlike anything Derek had ever seen.

All around her, people had stopped to look at her, shocked.

Daemons as large as Tesni were rare and awkward. They often terrified people with more conventional prey-animal Daemons such as rodents or birds.

Seeing her without her human was… shocking. Derek’s arrival brought every eye to him.

Including the man running the booth, who was…

Shit. It was McCall.

Who, surprisingly, was beaming at Tesni like she was a bike on Christmas morning.

He looked up, and smiled at Derek, calling: ‘Derek! I thought I recognised her!’

The tension in the room relaxed. People clearly trusted McCall. Feeling like a scruffy loser, Derek crossed the room and dug his fingers into Tesni’s scruff.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Good to see you, Alpha.’

‘Hey! You too, man, though no need to stand on ceremony. I’m so glad you’re here, I wanted to apologise.’

Derek’s eyebrows went way up. ‘To me?’

‘Yeah! I totally snuck up on you, when you were just trying to get some groceries. You looked like you were about to drop.’

‘It was a long day.’ Derek managed a smile. ‘I wanted to introduce myself, just… I was born into a pack. I’ve never had to…’

‘I get it, man, no big deal. No pressure! We’d love to meet you, but you don’t need to feel like we’re the be all and end all. If you wanna stay independent, you can still join us for the full moon or whatever!’

That was… really generous, actually. Derek said as much, and McCall beamed at him.

Then Tesni whimpered. Derek looked down, surprised, and saw that the cat-like-animal had leapt, neatly, off the counter straight onto a frozen Tesni’s back, where it was making muffins, purring.

McCall followed his gaze.

‘Huh. That’s… strange. Jedza isn’t normally super social.’

‘Whose is she?’ Derek asked.

He didn’t say the obvious.

_ Where is her human _ ? Derek couldn’t feel them nearby, which meant…

Scott’s expression clouded. ‘Jedza is Stiles’. He owns this place. They… they have a long limit. He went down the street for coffee.’

Derek and Tesni had a long limit. They’d tested it in Derek’s teenage years; three metres apart, before Derek would cry from the pain. Four before he’d pass out.

The nearest coffee shop Derek knew of had to be halfway down the street. Ten metres, maybe twelve.

As if summoned, the small set of chimes above the door jingled, and a young man strode in, carrying three coffees and an iced tea in a cardboard tray.

Derek’s breath was knocked out of him. He stood stock still and watched Jedza run across the room to the newcomer. She climbed his black jeans in three quick, sharp jumps, and settled onto his shoulder, where he gave her an absent-minded scratch, looking over at McCall and Derek.

‘Stiles!’ McCall shouted, enthusiastic. Derek flinched at the noise, and the newcomer’s - Stiles’ - gaze riveted on him.

Stiles had brown hair and eyes, pale skin and freckles. He wore a bright pink  _ Lizzo _ t-shirt and had two full sleeves of black ink tattoos, from his collarbone - peeking out above the stretched neck of the t-shirt - down to his black-painted fingernails. His black jeans were both clearly ancient and too-tight, held up by a belt with a  _ Captain Marvel _ buckle.

A pretty blonde woman distracted Stiles, and took the cardboard from him. Her t-shirt indicated she was an employee, and she handed him back the iced tea.

Stiles wandered over to them. As he got closer, Derek realised it was bubble tea, brown with black tapioca pearls. It smelled like lychee and sugar.

Stiles drew up beside Derek, looked him dead in the eye, and sucked the obscenely thick straw.

Derek felt like he was going to die.

Stiles swallowed and stuck out his hand. ‘Stiles Stilinski,’ he said. His voice was light, his gaze evaluating. ‘Emissary to the McCall Pack.’

Derek wiped his hand on his jeans and shook Stiles’.

He wasn’t sure if the shock he felt when he touched the younger man was magick. He did know that by not flinching, he made Stiles smile.

‘Derek Hale,’ he responded. ‘Your Daemon was introducing herself to mine.’

‘Was she?’ Stiles reached up and petted Jedza, still smiling. ‘That’s… interesting.’

‘Weird, right?’ McCall said, with a smile. ‘Stiles, Derek is new in town.’

‘Where do you work, Derek?’ Stiles asked.

Derek told him, and both men brightened. The considering, cold expression in Stiles’ eyes faded as though it had never been there at all.

‘That place is amazing. You do fantastic work.’

Derek, to his horror, felt himself blush. ‘Eh. All lawyers are sharks, right?’

Stiles glared and poked him in the chest. The shock of it was enough to force a surprised laugh from Derek’s lips.

‘Hey! Hey, you do good work for people who need it. In fact… ERICA.’

‘Erica?’ Derek echoed. The blonde girl appeared at his elbow and made him jump.

Up close, he could smell that she, too, was a wolf.

‘Light of my life, can you watch the shop? I’ve got a reading to give.’

Derek stiffened, and Tesni growled. The girl, like McCall, didn’t have a wolf Daemon - instead, she had a pretty parrot of some kind with bright blue feathers perched on her shoulder.

The parrot preened in Tesni’s general direction, totally unintimidated. Erica smirked at Derek, her expression too knowing by half.

‘Sure thing, honey,’ she said sweetly. She indicated a window seat partly-hidden by a translucent red curtain and leered at Derek. ‘Reading room is free. Remember, tall, dark and menacing, you gotta buy something for the free reading. Wolfsbane liquor is half off.’

Stiles glared at her. ‘No, it isn’t.’

‘It is for this guy.’ Erica swished her hair and walked away, sharing a laugh with her Daemon.

‘Is she your packmate?’ Derek asked McCall.

‘Yeah,’ the Alpha replied easily. ‘She and Isaac work here, Boyd works with Stiles’ dad at the police station, and my mate Kira is the head vet at the animal shelter.’

‘We’ve also got a doctor, a party planner, and the owner of the Irish pub on Main,’ Stiles concluded. ‘We’re pillars of the community.’

Both men beamed at him. Derek wondered if this is what the hard sell looked like.

Tesni, to Derek’s surprise, stepped towards Stiles. She got close - too close! - and even Stiles’ eyes widened as he faced her down. 

She sat at his feet. Derek felt like the distance between Daemon and witch in the pit of his stomach. Taboo as it would have been, he had the strangest urge to know what it would feel like if Stiles were to sink his long fingers into Tesni’s pelt.

‘Hello, beautiful,’ Stiles said, softly. There was something in his voice Derek couldn’t identify.

Tesni looked back at Derek, surprised. ‘ _ He’s speaking to me _ .’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Derek hissed.

Stiles gave him this strange little half-smile, and shrugged his shoulder, dislodging his cat-shaped Daemon.

‘Play with the nice wolf,’ Stiles said, and the sandy-coloured Jedza jumped down and landed on Tesni’s back, forming a little cowboy cat-loaf. ‘Come with me, Derek Hale.’

Stiles led him behind the curtain, which hid a small, round table and two chairs. A thin bookcase bracketed each side of the window, which had been painted with swirling colours to make it opaque and provide light, without having to see the alley outside.

The bookcases were heavy with reference books on magick, and several small chests that Derek assumed contained different forms of fortune-telling.

Stiles took a seat. Derek hesitated.

He had worked with plenty of witches. He’d grown up with his own family Emissary.

Sorcery still made him uncomfortable.

Stiles watched him, expression unreadable. When Derek took the seat opposite, the younger man beamed, as though Derek had passed some unspoken test.

‘Can I have your hand?’

Derek hesitated. On the other side of the curtain, Tesni curled into a ball, Jedza happily burrowed into her fur.

‘Your Daemon likes mine,’ Stiles said, following his gaze.

‘Your limit…’ 

Derek said it before he thought. He was deeply curious. Stiles seemed so well-adjusted.

Stiles’ honey eyes went dark, but surprisingly, he didn’t seem offended or upset.

‘Do you really want to know?’ he asked, curious. ‘Or are you just grossed out by it?’

‘I want to know.’ Derek paused. ‘I’m not grossed out, Emissary Stilinski. In my line of work, I’ve met people whose Daemon-bond takes many forms. People whose limit was stretched to breaking, or whose connection was completely severed.’

Stiles went pale.

Derek understood. He’d been as professional as he could through that particular interview, then had thrown up when he was alone.

A person with a severed connection was alive, but not in any way that mattered.

‘This shop was my mother’s. She got pancreatic cancer - it was fast, and not pretty, near the end. She wanted me to remember her as she was, not as she would be, so she wouldn’t let me visit in the last few days.’ Stiles paused. He stared out at Jedza. ‘Jedza stayed with her. She cuddled with her Daemon. We had to stretch the bond, so I could eat, and shower, and sleep, and Jedza could stay with Mom. At the time, nothing hurt as much as missing her, so it wasn’t too bad.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Derek said. Stiles met his gaze, and while the words were cliched, Derek hoped Stiles knew he meant them. ‘Did she settle when your mother passed?’

Stiles raised an eyebrow, but nodded. ‘How did you know?’

‘I see it a lot. What is she?’

‘She’s a sand cat. Most people think she’s just a housecat, but she’s a wild thing at heart. A hunter.’

A beat, then Derek placed his hand, palm up, on the table between them. With a smile, Stiles took it.

‘Is this real magick? I’ve never really understood fortune-telling.’

Stiles shrugged, and hunkered down over Derek’s hand, giving him his full attention.

‘It’s good money,’ Stiles said, absently, his focus on Derek’s hand. ‘I think it gives people perspective, more than anything. Makes them use their critical thinking skills.’

The silence stretched out between them.

When Stiles finally looked up, his eyes were black. The pupil had expanded to fill the eye, as soot black and fathomless as a starless night. Derek was mesmerized.

Stiles blinked, and it was like it had never been. His eyes were warm brown again in an instant.

‘You’re going to have a lot of family,’ he said. His voice had that strange quality it had when he spoke to Tesni, and outside the curtain, Derek saw his Daemon lift her head to listen. ‘No children by blood, but five or six by choice.’

‘Six?’ Derek echoed, horrified. Stiles grinned up at him. ‘Are you messing with me?’

‘I’d  _ never _ .’ Stiles clutched imaginary pearls with the hand he had free, and his wicked smile widened. ‘Witch’s code.’

‘I’ve never heard of a witch’s code.’

Stiles leaned in to whisper: ‘there isn’t one. I do what I want.’

Derek chuckled, and Stiles was clearly pleased. The witch settled back in his chair.

‘You’ve put yourself second for too many years,’ Stiles continued. ‘You’ve been lonely, and stressed, and bored. All that’s about to change.’

Tesni wined.

Derek understood. He  _ wanted _ that, more than he could express. Tesni wanted it.

‘Oh, and you have a soulmate.’ Stiles dropped Derek’s hand and settled back in his chair.

The witch crossed his tattooed arms - strong arms, Derek noticed absently - across his chest and waited for Derek’s reaction.

‘A soulmate,’ Derek echoed.

‘Yeah. So, if you’re dating someone…’ Stiles trailed off, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

Derek felt his colour rise. He glanced down at himself.

He was in a stained t-shirt and ripped jeans. His trainers were filthy, and he had a full-blown depression beard.

‘Yeah, right.’ He gave a humourless  _ huff _ . ‘I’m not exactly a prize.’

Stiles’ eyes glittered. ‘Your mate would probably say you’ve clearly gone through some shit lately. That you’ve obviously got a good soul, because she’s right out there, and she seems adorable.’

Derek smiled. He loved when people praised Tesni.

‘Plus, you’re ripped. So, you’ve got that,’ Stiles threw in, and laughed when Derek’s blush deepened. ‘Goddamned adorable.’

The witch stood, and Derek followed him into the shop floor, where McCall was busy with a young family interested in the puppies. 

‘I’ve gotta get back to work,’ Stile said. He sounded almost… sorry.

‘Wait… I have to buy something.’

Stiles plucked something from a bowl by the till and stepped close to Derek. His scent was… limes and sandalwood, gunpowder and burnt sugar.

Stiles slid a business card into Derek’s front pocket. Maybe Derek’s eyes flashed, because Stiles smirked at him.

‘Guess you’ll just have to come back.’ Stiles whistled at Jedza, who leapt off of Tesni’s back.

Tesni surprised everyone by giving the sand cat an affectionate lick in farewell.

‘Guess I will,’ Derek said stupidly.

Not knowing what else to do, he left, and it was only halfway down the street that he realised he hadn’t taken a photo for Laura.

He took out the business card. It was the same cheerful blue as the storefront.

_ CLAUDIA’S EMPORIUM _

_ Online and IRL Occult Knowledge Boutique and Magickal Marketplace _ , it read. 

_ Stiles Stilinski, owner, proprietor and witch-for-hire.  _

Then, in smaller letters alongside an Instagram handle, phone number and email address:  _ Available for freelance seances, supernatural solutions to problems mundane and extra-ordinary, and children’s birthday parties. _

Derek grinned stupidly and sent a picture of it to Laura.

Her reply was immediate.

_ Oh god _ , the text read _ , he’s just your type _ .

Derek ran a hand over his face and realised his beard was itchy as hell. It was time for a shave.


	2. In which we attend Beacon Hills Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Stiles-perspective chapter. TW for mentions of violence and death, but no characters are harmed <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments give me life thank you all - particularly for supporting my intuition that Stiles' Daemon should be something other than a fox.
> 
> Foxes are cute. Sand cats are cuter. Fight me.

The next time Stiles ran into tall, dark and eyebrows, Stiles was drunk, barely dressed, and covered in glitter.

Derek-the-wolf was also covered in glitter. This was because Stiles had spotted him, gotten excited, lost his balance and had fallen into the older man’s arms, quite literally smearing him in the stuff.

It had taken him a hot minute to spot Derek, because - hot  _ dayum _ \- the wolf had cleaned up his act.

Derek Hale had piqued Stiles’ interest when he’d been surrounded by a dark aura, his Daemon’s fur patchy, beard overgrown.

Derek Hale after a haircut and a shave? In a clean white t-shirt and  _ non _ -destroyed jeans?

Stiles beamed up at him.

‘Stiles,’ Derek said. He set Stiles on his feet, but Stiles immediately teetered again, and Derek grabbed his arm to stabilise him. ‘Are you alright?’

‘I’m  _ good _ . I made vodka with  _ skittles _ .’

Derek blinked, then smiled. ‘I didn’t know you did drag.’

Stiles looked down at himself. He wore stripper heels that didn’t fit very well, pink fishnets, and a yellow plaid kilt.

Also, he had a clear plastic, tiny backpack that contained ID, lipgloss, 20 dollars, sunblock, and a bottle of water.

In the circles he ran in, that wasn’t even baby drag.

‘I don’t! I do glitter!’

Stiles had to yell to be heard over the band playing enthusiastic, if mediocre, 80’s hits. 

Derek looked like a  _ snack _ . Even with his admittedly intimidating Daemon, he was drawing a lot of attention from the crowd in attendance.

‘Do you wanna come get a bubble tea?’ Stiles yelled at him.

Derek’s smile broadened. ‘That would be great.’His gaze fell on Jedza, whom Stiles was wearing as a hat.

She was basking in the summer sun, as clear an indication of Stiles’ drunkenness as his dilated pupils.

She was hot as hell and was making his head sweat.

Derek helped Stiles out of the street and into  _ Hot Joe _ , a cafe on the corner. Stiles wanted to protest not sitting outside - sun! - but as soon as Derek sat him in the corner by a standing AC unit his protests died.

‘Wait here,’ Derek said, and disappeared.

Stiles took the chance to move Jedza from his head to the coffee table, directly in the path of the aircon. She mewed in protest, then rolled over and let the breeze roll over her belly.

Hussy.

Then he realised Derek’s Daemon was still with them. The bar was apparently close enough that Derek could be apart from her, and the wolf panted as she regarded Stiles thoughtfully.

‘Hello again, beautiful,’ Stiles said to her.

Her ears pricked. The rules around Daemon communication were strange. They could speak to their human, obviously, and to other Daemons, but it took an effort of will for them to speak to other humans, and they generally only did it in emergencies. Little Timmy is stuck in the well, for example.

And they understood the gist of human conversation, but not everything. Stiles often had to explain a conversation he’d had, to Jezda.

Which, you know, rude. So he’d learnt to channel his magick and speak directly to them.

It was an amazingly useful thing. Daemons saw things, felt things, their people didn’t.

It was also super, super rude to do without permission, so Stiles tried not to do it too often.

Except this lovely lady was so  _ fluffy _ , and Derek wouldn’t mind. Her coat was looking lustrous, and it warmed the cockles of Stiles’ heart. There was no clearer indication that Derek’s mental state had gotten better in the past week.

‘ _ You can hear me _ ,’ she said.

‘Sure can. What’s your name?’

The wolf’s yellow eyes stared inscrutably at him. ‘ _ Tesni _ .’

‘That’s pretty.’

‘ _ Flatterer. I’m not going to tell you anything about Derek. I don’t know if I like you yet. _ ’

Stiles had a sudden, insane urge to pet her.

He sat on his hands.

‘You like me plenty. You like Jedza.’

_ ‘She’s pushy.’ _

‘She’s cuddly. I’ve never seen her be cuddly.’

Jedza cracked an eye. She looked between man and wolf and apparently decided both were beneath her notice, because she went back to sleep.

‘ _ You smell like limes. _ ’

That… made Stiles blink. ‘Thanks? Its my shampoo.’

Derek returned. He had a bubble tea and two bottles of cold water, one of which he handed to Stiles.

‘Water, first, then caffeine and sugar.’

Stiles glared at him. ‘We’ve only met once, and you’re bossing me around?’

Derek settled back in the armchair opposite and cracked his own bottle of water. His pretty eyes took in Stiles’ bare, glittery torso, the facepaint, and the torn fishnets.

‘Just drink it, Stiles.’

With a huff, Stiles did, but only because he was thirsty, dammit.

When he was done, he felt a little more sober. He refilled the bottle with a flash of sorcery and drank that, too. It made the air smell of burnt sugar, and Derek’s nostrils flared.

He waited for the other man to say something about reckless magick use, or even just to react to - if Stiles was being modest - an extravagant display of casual power.

Derek just watched him, inscrutable.

‘What brings you to Pride, big guy?’

Derek’s ears went pink. ‘I’m trying to get out of the house more.’

Stiles smiled at him. Gosh, but he was cute. ‘I was on one of the floats. I’m the treasurer of the Beacon Hills United Supernatural LGBTQA+ Association. BHUSLA.’

‘I saw that one,’ Derek said. Tesni placed her big head in his lap, and he stroked her absent-mindedly. ‘Was it the one with all the yarn?’

‘Yup! Our theme was “a close knit community”. I enchanted so many knitting needles.’

Derek chuckled, but apparently didn’t feel the need to fill the ensuing silence.

Stiles considered the wolf. Derek clearly wasn’t an extrovert, but he needed people.

He’d shaved, and tidied himself up, since Stiles had seen him last.

‘You could join us,’ Stiles blurted.

Derek blinked at him. ‘BHUSLA?’

‘No! I mean, yes, of course, if you want to, it would be amazing to have a lawyer on side, but I meant the pack.’

A shadow passed over Derek’s face. He shuffled awkwardly in his seat, and Tesni whined softly.

‘I don’t know, Stiles. I was born into a pack. I’m not great with people - I don’t know where I’d even begin with a new pack.’

Stiles was just drunk enough to think initiating physical contact was a good idea. He leant across and placed his hand on Derek’s knee.

It was less than an inch from Tesni’s snout. Both Derek and Tesni stiffened.

‘It’s the full moon tomorrow night. You could start there. It can’t be fun, spending it alone.’

The cafe doorbell  _ tinkled _ , heralding the arrival of a newcomer. Stiles ignored it, still watching Derek’s face, until he felt a hand on his own shoulder.

He recognised the energy immediately and sighed.

‘Yes, Isaac?’

The young wolf moved to stand by Derek, so that Stiles could see him. Isaac knew better than to try and re-direct the witch’s focus.

Isaac’s red squirrel Daemon, Kitto, looked agitated around his neck.

‘Stiles,’ he said, ‘you’re needed at the station.’

Shit. Stiles scrubbed a hand over his face; he wasn’t sober enough for this. ‘What’s happened?’

Isaac looked, nervous, at Derek, his panicked eyes taking in Tesni - big, predatory, and clearly born-wolf. Kitto’s chattering increased in volume.

‘It’s alright, Isaac. Derek’s cool.’

Isaac’s gaze snapped back to Stiles. ‘They found a body in the woods. McCall lands.’

_ Shit _ . 

As an established pack, the McCall pack was considered one of the governing bodies in Beacon Hills. The police technically sat at the top of the pyramid, with the pack’s remit supernatural crimes.

As Emissary, Stiles ran this aspect of the Pack. He was fortunate that it was a fairly rare occurrence, nowadays; when he and Scott had been teenagers, fumbling through the Pack’s birth and adolescence, there had been a constant flow of violence.

There were myriad beings who chafed against the alliance of supernatural beings with the human world. And a power-rich area like Beacon Hills, with a weak, inexperienced Pack to defend it, was a target.

Derek’s eyes were wide and worried. He went to rise, but Stiles put pressure on his knee, patting it.

‘It’s alright, big guy,’ Stiles said gently. ‘I’ve got work to do. You’ve got my number? I owe you a bubble tea.’

Derek’s smile was small and shy. ‘I’ll hold you to that.’

Stiles scooped Jedza up, along with his tea, and let Isaac lead him out of the cafe, towards the station. Together they avoided the remnants of the drunken partiers with ease.

‘It looks like a rogue wolf,’ Isaac said.

Stiles stiffened.

There were wolves who didn’t believe in integration with humanity, or with other supernatural beings. There were wolves who believed hunting humans was their right.

There were wolves who had lost their damned minds and turned every night the moon was waxing, their transformed selves savage and brutal.

All manner of things could go wrong, when a wolf had no pack.

‘That man you were with-’ Isaac began, hesitantly. ‘How well do you know him?’

_ He wouldn’t _ , Stiles wanted to say.

But he’d seen too much. He’d met too many charming murderers.

Derek had a dark aura, but it was dark with misery, not cruelty. His Daemon had a sweet voice, and Jedza liked her. His palm had shown he loved with his entire heart, and his future was heavy with love.

Every instinct in Stiles told him that Derek Hale’s heart was a cherry tree in with blooms tightly in bud, preparing itself for blossom and fruit.

But Stiles’ first priority, always, was his family. His pack.

He slipped his heels off his feet and accepted a too-big denim jacket from Isaac to cover his bare chest. He downed his drink so quickly he almost choked and sobered up.

Inside the station, no one batted an eyelash at Stiles’ appearance. After all, he’d grown up around these men and women, and the few that had missed his misbegotten youth during the years he’d studied for his master’s degree in sorcery knew him from the intervening years, once he had returned home and assumed the mantle of Emissary.

Stiles and Isaac knew the way to the morgue. On the way, Stiles swiped a pair of sterile shoe-coverings to cover his bare feet. Down there in the cool, Stiles’ father stood with Boyd, one of the McCall pack betas, and the man who had undoubtedly sent Isaac out to scent-track their Emissary and bring him back. At the sight of his Emissary, Boyd ducked his head down and to the side, showing his neck. At his feet, his Daemon - a Norwegian forest cat named Tanith who dwarfed Jedza - gave Stiles a slow, affectionate blink of her yellow eyes.

The body on the examination table had been torn to shreds. Stiles gave his father a pat on the shoulder and Boyd a nod of his head as he moved past them both, his attention focused like a laser on the body from the second he entered the room.

Male. Stiles whispered a spell and pressed two fingers to each of his closed eyelids, and when he opened them, he saw mists of different colours around the body.

He inspected the torn threads of the corpse’s former life.

_ Male _ , he saw. A drifter, most likely, judging by their clothing, the scraps of skin remaining, the despair in his past and aborted future.

The death was second-degree sorcery, he concluded, and then repeated himself out loud.

Isaac looked baffled, so Stiles elaborated. ‘He wasn’t killed by magick, but the death would not have been possible without magick.’

Boyd, normally quiet, spoke up. This was his area of expertise within the force.

‘If Stiles killed you will a spell, it’s first degree.’ Boyd gestured at himself. ‘If I mauled you, using wolf-strength to subdue you, it’s second degree. Innate power versus deliberate.’

‘What if Stiles mauled me?’ Isaac asked.

‘Justifiable homicide,’ Stiles said, with a small smile. The wolf looked momentarily startled, then relaxed.

Stiles knew how much Isaac hated the police station. The morgue, doubly so. He was here because he was brave, loyal, and took his duties as one of Scott’s betas seriously.

‘It looks like a wolf mauling,’ John Stilinksi said. His tone was matter-of-fact. ‘Is there anything you need to tell me, sport?’

Stiles straightened and took a step away from the cadaver, shaking his head. Their latest turn, a fifteen-year-old leukemia patient named Gio they’d bitten less than a week ago, was still under 24-hour observation at the local hospital. Lycanthropy couldn’t cure everything, but it was Gio’s best shot, and Scott had agreed to try.

New turns could be tricky, admittedly, but even turned, Gio was too weak to hunt. Their last two turns were fully integrated, and had passed their year-long probation with the pack. They would never disobey Scott, or Stiles.

A born wolf like Derek could survive, however miserably, on their own. For a turned wolf, their instincts raw, it would be torture, especially if they’d known pack life and been banished.

‘Scott said there’s a new lone wolf in town. That he didn’t seem overly interested in meeting the pack,’ Boyd said. Tanith’s tail flicked, a tight, tense movement.

Boyd’s tone was even, calm, but for some reason, Stiles felt himself bristle.

‘I’ve met him. I gave him a reading. It’s not him.’

‘You’re sure?’ John asked, gentle.

‘When have I ever been wrong?’ Stiles shot back. ‘Ever since I was a baby, Dad, if I take against someone, time’s proven my point. For all the pack’s instincts, I’ve always been the one with good judgement when it comes to strangers.’

Isaac, surprisingly, came to his defence. ‘He’s right, Sheriff.’

John smiled, exhaustion clear in the shadows around his eyes. ‘A hundred percent success rate doesn’t mean infallible. Your innate sorcery is strong, Stiles, but if we learnt anything from your mother, it’s that sometimes you need some distance to have perspective.’

All three of the younger men in the room immediately glanced at John’s Daemon, Freja.

When Stiles was younger, Freja had been a hare, strongly muscled with enormous grey ears.

When his mother Claudia had died, she had died with her arms wrapped around Freja, John with his arms around Claudia’s Daemon, Stanislav. It had made the doctors very uncomfortable to see the taboo so openly broken in a public place, but John and Claudia’s souls had been so deeply intertwined.

And then Stanislav had turned to mist, and a moment later, Claudia’s heart-rate monitor flatlined.

And Freja, who had been settled into her form since John was eleven years old, had shattered.

For the first few months, she changed forms so rapidly it was almost impossible to see what she was. John drank heavily, and sometimes, she would settle when he was deep in his cups, but it was never the Freja Stiles had grown up with.

Now, almost ten years later, Freja was most often a wild grey rabbit. She still transformed, though, and she was rarely awake, her little body flickering, reminding anyone who saw her of the horrifying reality of how delicate their Daemons truly were.

Freja had come to within a few moments of death, ten years ago. And if she had gone, Stiles would have been as good as orphaned.

Now, John cradled her in the crook of his elbow. She slept deeply, her little nose twitching.

Claudia had been a skilled healer, and she’d been able to sense illness on others. More than once, she’d recommended a colleague get a mammogram or rushed a playdate to the ER for a rash.

She hadn’t sensed it in herself. It had happened so fast.

‘I’ll make sure,’ Stiles said, ‘but I’m telling you we need to look into other lines of enquiry. Boyd, if you need support, I’m here, but we all said it would be good for the pack to take a step back from investigations, when you joined the force.’

Boyd inclined his head in agreement. Stiles didn’t mind being pulled in to the initial consult; if it had been a murder by any of a dozen lesser-known beings, a glance from Stiles would have been enough to narrow the suspect pool down to a handful. But now that the McCall pack was becoming more established - and, crucially, planning to welcome its first generation of born wolves - they couldn’t be seen to be too deeply involved in deciding the justice they would have to enforce.

An hour later, a hundred percent sober and exhausted, Stiles stepped into the station bathroom and washed glitter and makeup off of his face. Boyd had offered him a ride back to the Rescue, the ten-house neighbourhood the McCall pack had constructed on a farm on the outskirts of town, and Stiles was going to take him up on it. Any plans he’d had of enjoying the rest of Pride were scrapped, and he fired off a text to the BHUSLA WhatsApp group, apologising.

The door of the bathroom opened. Jedza, perched on the sink and admiring herself in the mirror, stiffened.

Stiles turned and looked at… Stanislav?

The slim, russet-brown wild pig in front of him flickered, like an old-fashioned TV with poor signal, and Stiles knew with a horrible rush that this was Freja. Like Stiles and Jedza, John and Freja had an unusually long limit, but he’d never known Freja to just show up somewhere without his father.

He’d certainly never known her to take Stanislav’s old form. Jedza had, for a bit, when Claudia was first sick, but it made more sense to everyone when she had settled as a predator.

Freja looked Stiles in the eye.

They stood in an odd stalemate for a second, before Jedza let out a strange  _ mew _ , leapt off the sink, and rushed to twine around Freja’s trotters. 

Stiles hadn’t known Freja to pay either of them an ounce’s attention since Claudia’s death. He’d assumed it was too painful for her, to look at Stiles and see Claudia’s eyes staring back. To scent the sugary echo of Claudia’s magick when Stiles used his own sorcery.

‘ _ What’s his name _ ?  _ The new wolf you like? _ ’ Freja asked.

Stiles wanted to cry. Her voice was lovely, and he had missed her so badly - she was the first Daemon apart from his own he’d ever spoken to. 

He had been so scared she would never come back from where she’d gone.

‘Derek,’ he told her. He took a knee before her, uncaring that the bathroom floor was definitely filthy. ‘He has sad eyes and a big heart.’

Freja seemed to consider this. ‘ _ You’re sure he’s kind?’ _

To his surprise, Stiles began to cry. He laughed at the insanity of the situation.

‘Yes. I’m sure.’

She stared at him, and then she flickered again. Today was full of surprises; she briefly took her old form, of a hare, before landing back on rabbit.

‘ _ I’m sorry _ ,’ she said.  _ ‘I’ve been asleep for too long. You grew up.’ _

‘I did,’ he agreed, and wiped his cheeks. He fought - and lost - against a sob. It escaped his lips and echoed around the empty tiled room. ‘I missed you.’

_ ‘She’d be proud,’ _ Freja said. ‘ _ She recognised us straight away, too. She said we were hers on our first date. She loved us so fast.’ _

Stiles managed a laugh. ‘Hold your horses, Frey. I don’t know him yet.’

Jedza rarely spoke. Now, she leapt onto Stiles’ bent knee and rubbed up against him.

‘ _ We will _ ,’ Jedza told the other Daemon, sure as sugar. Stiles scratched her ears and she purred.

John walked in, and scooped Freja up. He looked Stiles in the eye, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out.

Stiles stood and wrapped him in a hug.

‘It’s ok,’ he said. ‘I know.’

John relaxed. They stood like that for a long moment, then Stiles pulled away, with another useless laugh, and wiped at his cheeks. ‘I’ll see you Sunday for dinner, ok?’

‘OK,’ John said quietly. ‘Love you, kid.’

‘Love you too.’

A few minutes later, Stiles hopped into the passenger seat of Boyd’s police cruiser and as they rolled out of the parking lot, he checked his phone.

A text from an unknown number was waiting. After a glance, Stiles grinned, feeling some of the weight fall off his shoulders. He quickly added the number to his address book, which had literally 0 people’s real names and 100% stupid nicknames he’d given.

SOURWOLF: Hi it’s Derek Hale from the magick shop. Hope everything is ok with your packmate. D

YOU: Hey! Ye sorry had to run. Do u wanna come to the Rescue for moon tmm? Xxxx

SOURWOLF: The Rescue? D

YOU: Pack land south of town i cud pick u up? We eat b4 sunset. :D xxx

There was a pause, then, when Stiles had to consider the very real possibility that he’d overstepped. After all, Derek had shown interest in making new friends, not signing up for a new pack. And while spending the full moon with the McCalls wasn’t any kind of initiation, it was a big deal. They didn’t invite just anyone.

SOURWOLF: If it’s alright with Alpha McCall, I’d like that. D

He signed all his text messages and texted like an English teacher. Stiles thought he was adorable.

YOU: B @ the shop tmm 4pm. Cant wait! <3 :D xxx

SOURWOLF: I’ll bring desert x D

Stiles stared at that little  _ x _ .

‘What are you smiling at, Stilinski?’ Boyd asked, amused.

Stiles buried his fingertips in Jedza’s fur and smiled at the other man.

‘We’ve got a guest for tomorrow night.’


	3. In which we run with wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek meets the rest of the McCall pack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one, lovelies! I've just written the ending to this and it's ridiculous, I hope you're enjoying

The full moon glowed low over McCall pack lands as sunset turned to dusk.

Derek hadn’t known what to expect, really. He’d been so nervous, he’d changed outfits three times before landing on the same jeans-and-Henley combo he’d picked out of the closet first.

But Stiles had been totally relaxed when he’d stepped out of Claudia’s, closing early for the full moon, Jedza tucked into his arms.

‘Hey, big guy,’ he’d said, his champagne-brown eyes warm, his smile crooked. ‘How are you feeling?’

Derek had huffed out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, and run his hands through his still-wet hair, messing it up.

‘Kind of terrified,’ he’d admitted.

And Stiles hadn’t laughed at him. He’d patted Derek - on the chest, over his heart - and smiled.

‘Don’t worry. I’ve got you. Hi, Tesni. Looking fluffy this evening.’

Oddly, Tesni had seemed to like that. Jedza had immediately leapt from Stiles’ arms onto the wolf’s back, settling in for the ride. Derek felt their contact like a shiver down his spine, strange and pleasant.

And… everything had been fine. The McCall pack was about a dozen people deep, slightly more males than females, and a further six or so non-wolf packmates. They were friendly, and interested in Derek, and they seemed perfectly happy to accept that he was quiet, and spent most of the evening hanging around Stiles.

At first, he’d been concerned that he was crowding the witch. After all, he didn’t  _ really _ know Stiles, but the thought of striking out on his own and making friends was terrifying.

Except, when he’d tried to give Stiles some space and hang back with a pretty redheaded Banshee who seemed fascinated by his legal practice, Stiles had wrapped his arms around one of Derek’s and glared at the woman.

‘Don’t Bogart him, Stiles,’ she’d said sweetly, her eyes laughing.

‘He’s my guest,’ Stiles had retorted defensively. ‘I wanna show him off. You can interrogate him another time.’

A quick, almost sibling-like bickering match had ensued, Derek watching it like a tennis match.

At the end, the compromise had been handing his phone over to the Banshee - Lydia - so that she could add her phone number into his address book and a coffee date into his iCalendar.

His baked cheesecake had gone down like a house on fire, and Derek had subtly fired off a thank you text to his father for the recipe.

And all at once, the sun was setting, and all around him the pack stretched and stripped, laughing and completely at ease in their skins.

Derek stripped his shirt off, and felt Stiles’ gaze on him. His heart thundered in his chest, but he’d never been ashamed of nudity - growing up in a wolfpack, it was natural. His pulse raced because of the look on the witch’s face, the blatant hunger the younger man did nothing to hide.

The sun went down, and Stiles’ eyes blazed like coals, his magick seeping through.

Derek unbuckled his belt and shed jeans, boxers and socks all at once. In two long strides, Stiles was at his side, taking the bundle from him.

‘I’ll put them somewhere safe.’ The witch’s voice was strange, thick, and Derek could feel his breath on his skin.

Derek lifted his chin, and Stiles was so close, it would only take a shift forwards to press a kiss to his lips or taste the place where the witch’s pulse fluttered in his throat.

He fought visible arousal, but the moon was rising, and he was less a man and more a wild thing with every passing moment. Stiles glanced down, then immediately upwards, his eyebrows high and his cheeks pink.

Derek laughed. He couldn’t help it; as the moon rose, his heart opened, and a weight lifted from his shoulders. Stiles’ chuckle felt warm on his skin, and the witch stepped forward, just enough to hide Derek’s arousal from the rest of the pack.

‘Is that for me?’ Stiles asked, and the laughter died on Derek’s lips.

The witch’s gaze was burning.

Tesni interrupted them, and Derek thanked his lucky stars. He’d been a breath away from catching Stiles’ lips, and showing everyone around them his claim. The scent of lime, sandalwood, ash and burnt sugar was overwhelming, a perfume with depth and notes it would take Derek a lifetime to learn.

Tesni brushed up against Derek’s leg, her form already less corporal. Her edges blurred.

_ ‘It’s time _ ,’ she said.

All around them, Daemons were held close, and absorbed into the bodies of their partners. Derek bent and Tesni placed her forepaws on his shoulders; he felt her slip into his chest, and his transformation was set in motion.

He looked at Stiles as his body rearranged. He wanted him to see; wanted him to see how quickly he changed, how strong his wolf form was.

_ I can protect you,  _ he wanted to say, as all four of his paws touched the ground.

Stiles dropped onto one knee in front of him. He looked Derek in the eye, and then his fingers were deep in Derek’s scruff, and he wrapped the wolf in an embrace.

Deep in Derek’s chest, he felt Tesni’s surprise, and her joy. No one ever held her but Derek, no one touched them in this form but their old packmates, back home. It had been so long.

Alpha McCall howled, and Stiles released Derek.

‘Go on,’ the witch said. ‘Go run. I’ll see you soon.’

Derek licked his face and  _ went _ .

He ran through the night with the pack. He recognised one female beta as the blonde from the magick shop, and he nipped playfully at her heels as she dodged and danced around him. Alpha caught the scent of a deer, and they hunted until a big male - Boyd, Derek thought, though he wasn’t certain - brought it down.

After they’d eaten a little - even in wolf form, Derek was still full from the earlier dinner - they lounged and played. Alpha nipped at Derek’s tail, and when they all formed a pile of sleepy fur, Derek was nudged and hustled into the centre of the puppy-pile, in pride of place by Alpha’s side.

There, a small, visibly pregnant fox-shifter was nestled against Alpha’s belly. Derek bared his neck to her, and she nipped him gently, before licking the hurt.

Derek settled in with Alpha and Alpha-mate and dozed, full and pleasantly tired from the run.

A woman’s unholy scream woke them.

Derek had never heard a Banshee scream, but there was little doubt in his mind that was what he was hearing.

He was on his paws and running before he had time to think. With Tesni in his chest, everything seemed so clear.

His mate was out there in the night, unprotected.

Except… when Derek made it to the Rescue, he didn’t see the non-wolf members of the pack fighting for their lives.

He saw three unconscious men with bloody ears and noses, and a huge, grey-and-tan brindled wolf, hovering three feet off the ground, magick swirling in mirage-like eddies all around it.

Stiles stood beside Lydia. He wore bright orange ear protectors, and his eyes were black from pupils to lashes. His power rolled off him in waves, but at his feet, Jedza sat, prim and seemingly unconcerned.

Behind Stiles, the rest of the non-wolf pack sat on the ground, surrounded by what looked like a dome of mist. Derek could hardly make them out.

‘LYDIA,’ Stiles yelled.

Derek winced. Apparently the witch had forgotten he was temporarily deaf.

‘CALL MY DAD, WOULD YOU?’ Stiles attention flickered to Derek. He smiled reassuringly, his eyes flickering briefly back to normal, and then he returned his focus to the wolf. He said with strange resonance: ‘ _ śpij teraz wilku.’ _

The wolf’s eyes closed and it slumped. Stiles clearly had to adjust to the sudden dead weight, and he used telekinesis to lower the beast as Derek made his way to the witch’s side.

Derek rubbed against Stiles’ legs and growled at the unconscious wolf. It really was massive - Derek had always been one of the larger members of his old pack, and he only came to Stiles’ waist. This beast would have been half a foot taller, from paw to shoulder.

Stiles’ hand burrowed into Derek’s fur, absently scratching against his skin. Derek sniffed at the strange wolf, and immediately recoiled, pressing himself protectively against the witch, maneuvering his body to stand between them.

The strange wolf was a murderer. The men beside him…

Were something Derek did not recognise. They stank of magick, not the natural, soul-deep power Stiles radiated, but the reek of sorcery not earned. Stiles could pull power from his very nature, from his cellular structure, his blood, his pack-bonds. These men had traded for their power, and the injustice of it smelled  _ wrong _ .

He felt Stiles shift, and then he was speaking, his ear-defenders gone.

‘It’s alright, big guy. No one was hurt.’

As if to punctuate his words, there was a pressure against Derek’s sensitive ears, and he looked over his flank to see the protective bubble over the pack dissipate. Stiles shivered with the release of magick, but that was the only sign he gave of having dropped the spell. It was undeniably impressive.

The Banshee - Lydia - wandered over and held up her phone.

‘They’re sending officers as we speak. Your dad wants to know what happened.’

Stiles grabbed the phone and chatted, apparently thoroughly unconcerned, to his father.

‘It might be an issue of consent,’ Derek heard the witch say, and his attention snapped away from the strange wolf to Stiles. ‘I’ve seen feral wolves before. I don’t know what these guys did to him, pops, but I don’t think this guy was in his right mind. And I don’t think he’s a natural Alpha. I think they did something to him, to make him stronger, more magick-resistant.’

A pause, and then: ‘I’ll ask Derek. Yeah, he’s with Legal Aid.’

_ Stiles’ father knew who he was _ . Suddenly deeply exhausted, Derek  _ huffed _ . Stiles’ fingers clenched in his scruff.

The Sheriff’s department arrived in short order. Derek stayed by Stiles’ side, while the other wolves lingered by their non-human packmates, cuddling for reassurance, scent-marking each other. In an impressive display of control, Alpha McCall ignored the moon and shifted back to human, accepting sweatpants from Lydia and striding over to talk to the officers.

When the invaders were taken away, it was very early morning, and the rest of the pack were sleeping in puppy-piles across the Rescue, in the open air, snuggled into sleeping bags and using wolf-bodies as pillows. Stiles scrubbed a hand across his face, looking exhausted, and then blinked, surprised, at Derek when the wolf cautiously licked his hand.

‘Hey, there,’ Stiles said softly. ‘Did I scare you?’

_ They could have hurt you _ , Derek wanted to scream.  _ I’ve barely had any time to know you, and I could have lost you _ .

‘It’s not the first time something like this has happened,’ Stiles continued. Derek stiffened, and Stiles stroked his muzzle, apologetic. ‘I know how to protect myself and my pack. You don’t need to worry about me.’

Derek keened, and hated himself for how pathetic it sounded, but Stiles only chuckled and set off for a vacant sleeping bag. He settled down, and honey eyes met Derek’s in the twilight, challenging the wolf.

Derek  _ huffed _ and curled himself around Stiles. Jedza tucked herself into the witch’s embrace, and the three of them -  _ four _ , with Tesni safe in Derek’s chest - slept.


	4. In which there is pack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A misunderstanding, an understanding, and a car ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love your comments so much you guys, thank you for bearing with me as I'm slow posting! I have two more AUs in the works, so bookmark me for updates ;)

When they woke, Derek and Tesni were alone on the ground. Someone had thrown a blanket over Derek, and he looked up into the bright sky, feeling giddy and nervous.

Stiles wanted him. He’d flirted with him, though Derek didn’t know how deep it went, didn’t know if Stiles would run screaming if he had an inkling of the strange, bright thing that grew in Derek’s heart.

The McCall pack was under attack. That was... unsurprising, actually. They were a young pack, without any born wolves as of yet, and Beacon Hills was a magnet for supernatural activity. Whoever ruled the Hills had a great deal of power, both magickal and legal, over the inhabitants. Supernatural law and human law were uneasy bedfellows, but bedfellows they were, and Derek knew the line better than most, knew where it blurred.

He let his eyes drift closed, clutched Tesni close, and let his senses expand outwards, revelling in the sounds and scents of  _ pack. _

Laughter, chatter, cooking. Someone was making coffee and breakfast foods in vast quantities.

He focused. Even for a wolf, his hearing was strong, and he listened for Stiles’ heartbeat, for his voice. It took a moment, and Derek frowned - had the witch gone into town, to the station?

Then he heard it. Faint, but close enough to hear - in the woods? Stiles’, then McCall’s voice, and a female’s that Derek’s every instinct knew belonged to the Alpha-mate kitsune, Kira McCall.

‘I called Talia Hale,’ Scott said, and Derek sat bolt upright. ‘She confirmed his story.’

‘Of course she did,’ Stiles snapped. ‘I told you, I trust him.’

‘We have to be careful, Stiles,’ Alpha-mate said, gently. ‘The timeline is suspicious, and he went straight to you.’

‘He wasn’t interested in me until he caught your scent,’ Scott said. ‘That wolf last night went straight for you, Lydia told us.’

‘And it’s so  _ unbelievable  _ that someone who looks like that would be interested in  _ me _ ?’

Stiles’ scent - far away, but clear as day to Derek, was miserable and hurt.

‘That’s not what I meant, Stiles. There’s something he’s not telling us, I can feel it. I felt it when I spoke to Alpha Hale. Why would he leave them? It clearly made him miserable, you saw him in the magick shop.’

‘She defended him.’

‘She’s his mother,’ Scott shot back. ‘We don’t know much about born packs. They’re only just starting to treat us like we’ll last!’

‘So, you think she’s sent him here to kill me? To steal me?’ Stiles’ voice was sharp as knives. ‘Or, do you think he went crazy and left his pack, or he’s been adopted by evil warlocks? Listen to yourself, Scott.’

‘It could happen!’ Derek was surprised by the keening note in Alpha’s voice - the two men sounded like arguing brothers. ‘None of us expected the nogitsune! Or those gnomes! Weird shit happens all the time.’

Derek stood and pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms laid beside him - they smelled very faintly of Stiles and of his detergent. His heart bloomed with pleasure at the witch’s thoughtful gesture even as he met Tesni’s gaze and tilted his head towards the woods.

_ Alpha doesn’t trust us _ , Tesni said, low and miserable, and Derek shot her another look. Her tail hung between her hindlegs, her ears flat against her head.

He didn’t want them overheard, but he stroked a hand along her back.

_ I’m sorry,  _ he wanted to say.  _ I messed this up for us _ .

‘What does he smell like, Scotty?’ Stiles snapped, and Derek heard Scott’s sharp intake, then slow exhale of breath. ‘Does he smell of magick? Does his Daemon look rabid? Do his eyes bleed red when he looks at me, like he wants to hurt me?’

‘He  _ does _ smell of magick.’

‘He smells of  _ me _ ,’ Stiles retorted.

Derek stepped into their line of sight. Alpha and Alpha-mate looked unsurprised - had they heard him coming? - but Stiles’ hands flapped wildly, and he stumbled back, hitting his ankle on a tree root.

Derek grabbed him before he hit the ground and set him back on his feet. 

He kept his hand tight on Stiles’ arm, gathered his courage, and met Scott’s gaze. The Alpha had the good grace to blush, at least.

‘I separated from my pack for college,’ Derek said. ‘My dad’s human. I went to his alma mater, on the east coast. I couldn’t stay bonded and be that far away.’

‘It would have hurt him, Scotty,’ Kira McCall said, softly. The men all stared at her, but she looked up at Derek, empathy in her eyes. ‘My family had to leave our pack in Japan when we emigrated.’

Stiles’ hand slid, all of a sudden, into Derek’s. He threaded their fingers together and glared at Scott, who looked like he was questioning his own judgement, but didn’t want to admit it.

It made him look both constipated and much, much younger. Derek felt a sudden rush of empathy - he couldn’t imagine what it would be like, to be an Alpha not born to the role, let alone a turned wolf trying to establish a pack.

There was a long, tense beat of silence, and then Tesni surprised everyone by breaking it. She stepped forward - she was massive, compared to Scott’s little spaniel Daemon - and rolled onto her back, belly in the air, neck exposed. 

In a heartbeat, Jedza had darted from Stiles’ neck to crouch on Tesni’s exposed belly. Derek shivered, and watched the little cat glare at Scott, her allegiance as clear as it was surprising.

Stiles squeezed his hand. All at once, Scott  _ huffed _ , and ran his hands through his hair.

‘Dude, I’m so sorry. They… they attacked while I wasn’t there to protect my pack.’

Stiles shrugged, but Derek felt the tension leave him. ‘That’s why you have a bomb-ass Emissary,’ Stiles said.

Scott’s grin was easy and relieved. Derek cleared his throat.

‘You love your pack. If you… if you’d like, my mother sometimes sponsors new packs. She could help you.’

Scott’s eyes went very wide. ‘She’d do that?’

‘Of course. Especially…’ Derek shot a glance at Stiles, who seemed to be holding his breath. ‘Especially if you’re my new Alpha.’

Tesni keened, and Stiles started to vibrate with energy. His scent thickened, his magick excited and spilling over. Derek fought the urge to inhale deeply, and kept his eyes on Scott.

All at once, Scott’s Daemon stepped forward and gently nipped Tesni’s neck. Scott rushed forwards, and wrapped Derek in a hug that felt... 

It felt amazing. Derek felt Tesni relax, felt his heart stutter with the pleasure of being touched kindly by an Alpha, of being accepted.

Scott’s teeth nipped at Derek’s offered neck, and then he was being pulled back, and Stiles’ arms were around him, his magick wrapping him like a cloak.

Stiles’ teeth were blunt on the other side of Derek’s throat. It was non-traditional, to be marked by an Emissary, and Derek felt helpless arousal as Tesni whined with pleasure at the claim.

Derek’s own teeth itched. He  _ wanted _ , in a way totally new and very unsettling, to stake his claim on the witch. To have Stiles’ neck, bared to him, beckoning a bite.

After that, everything was a blur. There were Kira’s teeth on his throat, her cheek rubbing against his. Scott and Kira took him back to where the pack was having breakfast and introduced him, formally, as new Pack. Then there were a dozen people hugging him, scent-marking him, and it should have been uncomfortable but it  _ wasn’t _ .

They all smelled of Stiles, of McCall, and they all looked so happy.

Stiles stayed by his side the whole time. He even managed to eat a plate of eggs one-handed, his other hand firmly entwined with Derek’s.

‘So,’ Stiles said, when the noise died down.

‘So?’ Derek echoed, and gave Stiles a shy smile.

Stiles’ eyelashes fluttered and his cheeks went pink, his scent pleased and aroused and  _ delicious _ .

‘So, dinner? I make a mean risotto.’

Derek feels like his stomach is in knots, and doesn’t know if it’s nerves or excitement.

‘At… your place?’

‘I live above the shop.’ Stiles’ eyes were fathomless depths. He smirked, and when he spoke, his voice was low and sweet, the challenge crystal clear. ‘We could do a restaurant, if you like. We could start with coffee, then wait a week, then get Chinese, then text each other a lot and maybe -  _ maybe _ \- agree to Netflix and dinner at your place, or mine. We could dance around each other and take our time.’

Derek’s mouth felt dry. Stiles had been moving steadily closer, and now they were chest-to-chest, and Derek’s eyes were riveted to Stiles’ collar, where a pair of black ink crows were in flight.

‘Or…?’ Derek managed.

Stiles raised his hand, slipped a finger under Derek’s chin and tilted it upwards, so that Derek was staring into magick-filled, black eyes. The witch’s other hand trailed, light as smoke, down Derek’s forearm, until with fingertips Stiles pushed his fingers back, exposing his palm.

Stiles stroked one long forefinger over the wolf’s palm, along his lifeline. He leant in close, his lips a breath away, his head tilted, so that all Derek would have to do would be to  _ take _ .

‘Or,’ he said, ‘you could tell me the truth, right now. Whisper it to me. And tonight, I could make you risotto, hear your life story, then take you to bed and make you feel  _ good _ . We could skip all of that prologue and get to the good stuff.’

‘The truth.’ Derek felt like an idiot, like his ears were under water. The scent of Stiles was overwhelming, his fangs aching with the urge to drop.

It was bad before. Now that Stiles was  _ pack _ , it was almost irresistible.

‘Whisper it to me, Derek Hale.’ Stiles’ voice was full of old witchcraft, of moss and lichen and fire. ‘Tell me what I am to you, and I will never give you reason to regret it. I would be good to you, wolf.’

Around them, the pack had retreated, and they stood alone. Derek’s heart raced, and the hand at his jaw dropped to press against his chest, hard.

When Derek spoke, at last, it was hardly more than a whisper.

‘Mate,’ he said, and then Stiles’ lips were on his, and his arms were full, his hands squeezing the witch and gathering him close. When he was able to, he pulled away to gasp in a breath, and Stiles was on his throat, his teeth nipping, reinforcing the pack claim in a parody of the mating bite.

‘My mate,’ Derek managed, mind a blur. ‘Tesni knew. She knew the moment she caught your scent, she…’

Stiles chuckled, low in his throat, and Derek moaned at the vibrations. Stiles kissed him again, fiercely, then murmured: ‘Jedza hates everyone but you.’

‘You… you feel it.’

It wasn’t a question, but Derek couldn’t keep the hope from his voice, couldn’t keep his fingers from digging into Stiles’ hips.

The witch responded by pressing his entire body firmly against Derek’s and  _ arching _ into the touch.

‘You intrigued me. Your future intrigued me.’ Stiles kissed him, and rolled his hips, and Derek gave up resisting and pressed the witch back against the nearest wall, one of his legs firmly between Stiles’. ‘Ahhh. Gods, Derek.’

‘Tell me,’ Derek said, and Stiles laughed.

‘That day, at Pride, I was too drunk to see it, but my father’s Daemon, Freja - she saw the change in Jedza and in me. Magick is in my blood and my soul and my breath, Derek. I want you.’

Derek wanted to howl. It was both too much and not enough.

Months of depression and  _ nothing _ and boredom had led him here, to this man, and every instinct told him that the cry of  _ mate _ from his soul - from Tesni - could not be undone.

It was amazing and perfect and too much, all at once.

He sucked a bruise into Stiles’ neck, and the witch gasped. Derek basked in the sound, basked in the knowledge that he was not the only one made helpless by this thing between them.

‘I’ll be good to you, Derek Hale,’ Stiles said, and it sounded like a promise made with sorcery. ‘I’ll make love to you and build you a home. I just need… I just-’

Derek kissed him and breathed: ‘tell me.’

‘Be true. Be kind. Gods, Derek, this is… just trust me.’

Pressed up against a pack outbuilding in the burning summer sun, his words felt heavy and strange, and all Derek could think was that it sounded like they were exchanging marriage vows, not arranging their first date.

Their tongues tangled and Stiles’ hands were everywhere, and then Derek felt Tesni press up again his legs, far too close to Stiles, her yellow eyes riveted on the witch.

Derek felt every inch of the air between Daemon and mate like it was electric.

‘ _ Tired,’  _ Tesni said. ‘ _ We need to nap, Derek. _ ’

She was always the sensible part of him and Derek momentarily hated her, before he felt the rush of exhaustion, filling him when the adrenaline and arousal abated.

Stiles laughed and it was the prettiest sound. Derek chased it with his mouth and, gasping, pressed their foreheads together.

Stiles’ fingers scratched the hair at the base of his neck, an echo of the night before, when his hands had been in Derek’s pelt, touching both him and Tesni.

‘If you can keep your hands to yourself, I’ll drive you home.’

The car ride back was nice. Peaceful. Stiles fumbled with his phone when it automatically connected to the radio, and Derek got a brief blast of Taylor Swift before his laughter and Stiles’ punch on the dashboard shut it up.

‘You’re lucky you have a nice laugh,’ Stiles grumbled as they pulled onto the main road. ‘There’s nothing wrong with liking pop music.’

‘Of course not, it’s just…’

‘Just what?’

Derek snorted. ‘It ruins your aesthetic.’

Stiles’ eyebrows rose, but his smile was wide and easy. ‘My aesthetic?’

‘You’re all black nailpolish and tarot cards. You should be listening to Hozier or something.’

‘Florence and the Machine?’ Stiles suggested.

‘ _ Enya _ ,’ Derek managed, and then they were both laughing, and Stiles tossed his phone over, easily handing over the passcode.

In moments, they had the  _ Lord of the Rings _ soundtrack blasting, and Stiles was somehow singing along to the instrumental.

Derek hadn’t laughed so much since…

He wasn’t sure he’d ever laughed so much. He directed Stiles to his apartment, and the witch pulled up, the handbrake barely in place before his lips were on Derek’s.

‘You even have a pretty singing voice,’ Stiles said. ‘You’re going to ruin me, Derek Hale.’

Back in his flat, Derek’s heart wouldn’t stop thudding.

He set an alarm and was asleep in moments.


	5. In which there is risotto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first date, and a bowl of risotto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where it earns the mature rating, kiddos :P

Stiles was a great cook.

‘It’s like spellwork,’ his mama had said, as she stirred the pot, one hand on his head. ‘You put in what feels right. You stir in intention.’

Stiles baked cookies at Yuletide and honeycakes at Ostara. He did obscene things with pumpkin for the whole month leading up to Samhain. He knew the value of feeding his family, his  _ pack _ . Of nourishing them, from the inside out, with food and with intention.

_ Be well, _ his food said.  _ Be safe, be happy _ .

He was generous with his recipes but they never came out right for other people. Sometimes, in cold-and-flu season or when it seemed Beacon Hills was unbalanced, he would sell his baked goods in  _ Claudia’s. _

He made nursing cookies for new mothers and flavoursome Polish soups for the elderly.

He’d cooked for his lovers. Pot brownies in high school. At college, breakfast foods and cheap ramen made better with an egg. In adulthood, when he was back in the Hills, he’d used food to seduce and to persuade partners to cool their jets, quiet their hearts and take their toothbrushes out of his bathroom.

When Stiles got home, his lips tingling and Jedza’s pupils blown like she was high on catnip, he took a shower and took himself in hand.

Stiles believed in fate. He didn’t trust it, not always - he’d been too badly betrayed by it for that - but he believed.

Derek’s future, when he’d read it in his palm, had been beautiful.

Stiles was willing to be a little brave, for a shot at that future.

He came with a gasp, Derek’s name on his lips, washed his hair, and changed into soft pyjama pants. For a few hours, he lingered, considering what was to come, alternating between reading a trashy novel and watching snippets of TV. With an hour to go, he climbed to his feet, considered changing his clothes, and shrugged.

In the kitchen, he pulled an apron over his bare chest and collected the ingredients for mushroom risotto.

Stiles had never cooked like this before. He paused, momentarily panicked, then took a deep breath and melted the butter.

_ Stay with me, _ he thought, as he toasted the rice. With a splash of white wine, he thought:  _ be good to me. _

Risotto required patience. Stiles stood at the stove and stirred, his mind drifting, his hands in constant motion. 

_ See? _ He asked an imaginary Derek.  _ See how patient I can be? See how gentle, how I can work for what’s worth working for. _

Tesni had recognised his scent, Stiles thought to himself. What must that be like? To have your Daemon, the deepest recesses of your soul, reach out to a complete stranger and say:  _ yes. This is our love, our only, forever. _

Jedza jumped up onto the kitchen counter and regarded Stiles thoughtfully.

‘ _ You assume I didn’t know,’  _ she said, and Stiles almost dropped his wooden spoon. He stared at her, and she smirked.  _ ‘Tesni smells like home.’ _

‘I don’t want him to panic or pull back,’ Stiles muttered. ‘He meets me so beautifully. I can feel his fear, but he’s so brave.’

_ ‘If he does, we can wait _ ,’ Jedza returned, calm as ever. She echoed the spells he whispered while he cooked. ‘ _ We can be patient. We can be good.’ _

‘How can I be patient when I want him this much?’

Jedza’s eyes glowed with a glimmer of his own sorcery. ‘ _ You want him happy more than you want him naked.’ _

Stiles laughed, scooped her up one-handed, and kissed her. She, surprisingly, let him do it, rubbing her soft little cheek against his.

The shop doorbell went, and Stiles cut the heat, giving dinner one last stir. He padded downstairs barefoot, and let Derek into the quiet shopfront, still lit by the midsummer evening light.

Derek and Tesni took one step over the threshold and made a sort of aborted gesture towards Stiles. A heartbeat of confusion, then Stiles realised the wolf wanted to hold him, but his hands were full - of a bottle of red wine and a supermarket cheesecake, respectively.

Stiles laughed and stepped into Derek’s helpless open arms, running his fingertips against the space where Derek’s shirt met his jeans, rubbing his face against the wolf’s chest.

Derek made a sort of keening moan, and Stiles, still laughing, gave in and pressed a sweet kiss to his lips.

‘C’mon, big guy. Food’s ready.’

Stiles had never been on a first date barefoot in just pyjama bottoms, but as he climbed the stairs and heard the Derek’s sharp intake of breath at the sight of Stiles’ bare back, he didn’t regret it.

In the apartment, Derek dumped his gifts on Stiles’ sofa and gathered Stiles into his arms, shamelessly manhandling him.

Weres are tactile, but Derek touched him like the floodgates have opened. Like he has been waiting alll his life to get his hands on Stiles.

The pleasure of it, the  _ rightness _ , was nearly overwhelming. Stiles laughed, and guided the wolf to the stove, the two of them moving like entrants in a three-legged race as Stiles served up.

Derek’s chin was on his shoulder, sniffing at the food and sighing with comfort.

‘I can’t believe I get this,’ he said, very quietly, but his lips were by Stiles’ ears and the witch heard him.

‘Risotto?’ Stiles teased, but he turned his head enough to kiss the wolf’s cheek.

Stiles felt a twist in his chest and knew that Jedza was in contact with Tesni. Jedza almost never touched other Daemons - it wasn’t strictly taboo, not in the way that another person touching her would be, but it felt jarring and strange if it wasn’t a Daemon she and Stiles knew intimately.

He managed to disentangle himself from Derek enough to lead them both to the sofa. Derek poured the wine, then inhaled the aroma of the food.

His eyes flashed gold. ‘You’re amazing,’ he said.

‘Obviously. You like it?’

Derek took a tentative bite and gave a moan that ought to be  _ illegal. _

His grin was distinctly wolfish.

‘Is this how you seduce all the boys?’

Stiles felt uncharacteristically shy all at once, and hid it with a mouthful of risotto, slightly too hot. He shrugged.

‘Just you,’ he said.

‘It’s amazing. How does it… it tastes like...’

Derek trailed off, at a loss for words, and blushed as he buried himself in the task of devouring the food. Stiles smiled at him.

_ It tastes of the home I’d make you _ , he thought, and pressed into Derek’s side, eating in companionable silence.

Derek wasn’t a big talker, but he ate three bowls of dinner listening to Stiles’ life story. When Stiles talked about his mother, Derek keened and abandoned his food to wrap the smaller man in his arms, and held Stiles through the rest of the story, through Scott’s assault and non-consensual bite, through the establishment of the pack and how difficult it was for all of them while Stiles and their other human packmates were at college and how necessary, for everyone to grow.

Haltingly, Derek reciprocated, and Stiles rewarded him. For stories of life growing up in a born-wolf pack of impeccable lineage, Derek got cheesecake.

For stories of his awkward phase - overgrown ears and bunny-teeth - Stiles gently stripped him of his shirt, removed his own idiotic apron so they could lie, chest-to-chest.

He undid the wolf’s belt in exchange for the tale of his first heartbreak - an older woman who’d wanted to hurt his family for their lycanthropy.

The jeans were lost somewhere in the middle of college - Stiles’ pants followed them during Derek’s bar exams.

By then, Derek couldn’t speak, his lips and breath and focus swallowed whole by his witch. Stiles took Derek in his mouth, looking up coquettishly with his lips stretched obscenely around the wolf’s length, and Derek’s hands touched his hair, gentle at first, then when Stiles moaned, tangling there and gently guiding the witch up and down.

He had the most beautiful dick Stiles had ever seen. He wanted to write odes to it, dedicate great works in its name.

He was  _ not _ a hundred percent clear on how he was supposed to fit it in his ass, but goddamned if he wasn’t going to try. It was thicker, longer than his biggest toy and Stiles had never, ever considered himself a size queen, but the twisting in his belly suggested that for this man, he absolutely was.

‘Stiles, I’m c-close,’ Derek managed, and Stiles pulled off with a  _ pop _ , his jaw aching, squeezing his own member in an attempt not to loose his composure at the sound of Derek’s voice, wrecked and desperate.

‘We can’t have that, can we?’ he purred, and climbed the length of Derek’s body to press their erections together, letting Derek taste himself in Stiles’ mouth. ‘I want my mate inside me.’

Derek went very, very still, and for a moment, Stiles was terrified that he’d overstepped, that the delicate dance they were doing had been ruined.

Then he  _ growled,  _ low and desperate, and suddenly Stiles was in the air.

The lunatic had actually tossed him over his shoulder, heading for the bedroom.

Stiles tried and failed not to find the caveman impression desperately hot.

Derek laid the witch out on the bed and proceeded to take him apart. Stiles hadn’t been with a wolf sexually before - some instinct had told him it was a no good, very bad idea - but he was pleasantly unsurprised that all his deepest, darkest fantasies about the experience seemed to be entirely true.

Derek was incredible tactile, very strong, and seemingly obsessed with Stiles’ scent and taste.

He kissed him everywhere, tongue warm and wet on nipples, navel, throat and cock. He sucked one ball, then the other into his mouth until Stiles was crying out.

‘Big guy, if you keep that up, this is going to be over before it begins.’

At that, Derek swallowed his cock and milked him like it was going out of style, his eyes glowing gold, and Stiles came down his throat with a helpless cry.

Then Derek was kissing him, his fingers spit-slick against the witch’s entrance, his tongue fucking Stiles’ mouth, making him keen with oversensitivity as his soft cock brushed against the werewolf’s stiff, throbbing rod.

‘You can give me another,’ Derek said, low and menacing. ‘You’re going to give me everything.’

And, wow. Stiles, if he’d been a betting man, wouldn’t have put money on Derek being a dirty-talker.

The wolf’s finger breached him and began lazily fucking in and out. Stiles managed to gasp out a spell, and Derek’s eyes widened.

‘Did you just-’

‘Sex spells,’ Stiles gasped. Derek slid a second finger into Stiles’ suddenly slick opening, and the witch’s eyes rolled back in his head. ‘I - holy god - believe in being prepared for awesome situations.’

Derek pulled away, and Stiles wanted to keen from the loss, except then big hands were flipping him onto his belly, and one of Derek’s palms pressed hard on Stiles’ low back while the other scissored viciously inside of him. Stiles realised, as he ground his hips helplessly down into the mattress, that he was rock hard again and ready to go.

‘Look at you,’ Derek muttered, then pressed a kiss to the back of Stiles’ neck. ‘You’re beautiful. I wish I could see how good you’re being for me. How sweet and easy.’

A faint twang of humiliation and pleasure at the praise pricked at the base of Stiles’ spine and shock straight to his cock.

He moaned. Apparently, part of finding your soulmate was finding new and different kinks to share with them.

Derek added a third finger, and then he was lying beside Stiles, his lips on Stiles’ shoulder.

‘You like that, don’t you? You like to know how perfect you are for me. How tight and hot you are around my fingers, opening up so sweetly for me.’

How was it that Derek was the strong and silent type everywhere but bed? Stiles twisted his head to the side and caught the wolf’s lips in a desperate, sloppy kiss.

‘You came down my throat seconds ago and you’re already begging for it again,’ Derek whispered against his lips, and it was only the wrecked edge to his voice, the roughness that told Stiles he was affected at all. ‘Perfect little mate.’

And that… apparently broke the floodgates in Stiles’ head.

‘God, yes,’ he breathed. ‘Please, Derek, get inside me. Fill me up, make me yours.’

And then Derek was pressed against his back, guiding him up onto his hands and knees, his lips at Stiles’ ear muttering pure filth as the head of his cock pressed against the witch’s hole.

One big hand wrapped gently but firmly around Stiles’ neck, and just as Stiles was trying to work out what was so  _ good _ about that sense of vulnerability he felt, Derek pushed in.

The burn was intense and perfect, and when Derek paused to let the witch adjust to the sensation, Stiles wriggled his hips.

‘You’re not going to break me,’ Stiles managed. He arched his back, pushing up into Derek, and felt the wolf’s teeth scrape his shoulder as Derek panted for breath. ‘Fuck me, baby.’

Derek fucked with focus and barely restrained strength, and with shocking, deep tenderness.

‘You’re perfect,’ he repeated, each syllable matching a thrust of his hips. ‘Don’t know how I lived this long without you, you’re like… air.’

Stiles thought that was tremendously romantic, and expressed this by reaching back and grabbing Derek’s hair.

‘Mark me up,’ he hissed. ‘I know you want to, Derek, show them your claim.’

Stiles’ magick started to bleed out of him, but apparently Derek knew it wouldn’t hurt him, because his brutal pace never stuttered. It made the air around them shimmer like a mirage, made Stiles’ alarm clock turn sky-blue and his sheets shift from cotton to silk.

Derek bit down, suddenly, on the place where Stiles’ shoulder, and then Stiles was coming, untouched, on a scream.

Derek’s hips jack-rabbited a few more times, then he came with a rush, and his entire body collapsed on top of Stiles’.

Stiles, when he managed to gather his thoughts, shoved weakly at the dead weight.

‘C’mon baby,’ he slurred, ‘give me a break, I’m only human.’

Derek rolled off, and pulled Stiles tight against him, his lips going straight back to the mating bite, soothing it with his tongue. Stiles felt the sudden relaxation that came with a werewolf taking his pain, and he allowed himself to go soft and boneless and just let his wolf preen.

‘You’re hardly human,’ Derek said affectionately. ‘Or were your sheets black silk before?’

Stiles laughed and buried his burning face in Derek’s chest. ‘Shut up. My magick gets away from me sometimes.’

‘You mean if I get you off hard enough, you might turn me into a frog?’

‘Big, funny werewolf. Har-freaking-har.’

Derek chuckled - and wasn’t that the sweetest bloody sound? - and then both of them went very stiff and very still.

‘Is that-’ Stiles managed.

‘Yes.’ Derek’s grip on him tightened. ‘Oh, god, I-’

‘ _ Jedza _ ,’ Stiles gasped. ‘What in hell are you doing?’

What Jedza was doing was this: she had climbed up onto the bit of Derek’s chest not currently covered with Stiles, and was making tiny little murder-muffins on the wolf’s skin that healed as quickly as they formed.

She was  _ purring _ .

The taboo was profound. No one was ever to touch another person’s Daemon without consent, and even then, it was… private. Deeply private. As in, it was a people rarely even admitted that it happened, even behind closed doors kind of private.

Except Derek hadn’t touched Jedza.

Jedza had decided, all on her own, to reach out and touch Derek.

She was Stiles’ soul made flesh and she wanted to be as close to Derek as she physically could be. She curled up against his heart, and Derek’s eyes were wide with an expression Stiles couldn’t name.

‘Derek, I-’

‘Don’t. Don’t, she’s… oh, god, Stiles.’ Derek let out a breath and shivered. ‘She feels so good.’

And Stiles understood, because he felt it. He felt Jedza’s deep satisfaction in his chest, felt like something was finally sliding into place in his heart. He felt the warmth of Derek’s skin through the pads of his Daemon’s paws.

Tesni jumped up on the foot of the bed. Neither Derek nor Stiles had reached for the blanket yet, so there was nothing to prevent Stiles from feeling her thick, soft fur as she lay down across his legs with a pleased  _ chuff _ .

Stiles hesitated, then dug his fingers into the scruff of her neck.

Derek and Tesni made identical pleased little sounds. Derek, his gaze fixed on Stiles’, gently rubbed one index finger back and forth along Jedza’s cheek.

Stiles knew, then, why his parents had held each other’s Daemons in the hospital, as Claudia drifted further and further away. Why they had held on tight to each other’s souls and hoped, beyond logic or reason, that it would be enough to anchor them, to keep them together.

Stiles whimpered, and Derek held him close, and they drifted off to sleep.


	6. In which there isn't any coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek goes to get coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drama!

Derek woke when sunlight was streaming through Stiles’ bedroom window, and for a moment, he had no idea where he was.

_ Calm down, wolf, you’re moving too much. _

Derek stiffened. That had sounded like…

He looked down, where Jedza was a sprawled, relaxed mess on his chest, her eyes judgemental little slits.

Everything flooded back at once. He looked to the side, where Stiles lay, beside him, one hand cupped protectively over Derek’s pec, one long, lovely leg wrapped over Derek’s.

He took a moment to admire the witch’s ass.

_ You’re going to get up, aren’t you?  _ Jedza stretched, and Derek’s eyes were on her again.

She was… speaking to him?

She hopped off his chest, rubbed her cheek almost absently against his, and jumped onto the floor. Tesni shifted and yawned at the foot of the bed.

‘I want to get coffee. For when he wakes up,’ Derek said.

_ Good idea, wolf. He likes bagels with lox, too _ .

So, he was talking to another person’s Daemon.

He remembered the feel of her paw pads against his skin, of the unbelievable  _ rightness _ of having her so close to him.

It felt somehow very right that he be able to speak to her. Even if he’d never heard of anything like it before.

Derek very gingerly extracted himself from the bed. Stiles was clearly a heavy sleeper - he only stirred when Derek couldn’t resist and leant over to press a kiss to his neck, to his claiming mark, already partly healed. 

The witch was probably exhausted. They’d only slept in drips and drabs, after all. In between sleep, they’d… been active.

He inhaled the witch’s scent deeply. He was sure that Stiles was asleep, so he murmured: ‘Sleep, my love.’

He pulled on some clothes and, in the kitchen, found a pad of paper and pen on the fridge.

_ Gone to get coffee, _ he wrote.  _ Try to think of ways to thank me ;) _

He thought about crossing it out and starting again, his heart pounding, but Tesni saw the internal struggle and rolled her eyes.

_ ‘He took your bite. He’s not going to mind a bit of flirting.’ _

And Derek had beamed at her, grabbed the keys, and headed downstairs. The shop was open and bustling with the morning crowd - one of his new packmates, Isaac, waved cheerfully from behind the till.

Another, the blonde bombshell Erica, stopped him before he could make it to the door.

‘So,’ she said, smirking. ‘Good night?’

He flushed dark red and she chuckled.

‘You know if you hurt him, we’ll kill you, right?’

Derek fixed his jaw. ‘He’s my mate, Erica. I’ll spend my life trying to keep him happy, keep him safe.’

She blinked, apparently not expecting that. ‘Your… mate?’

‘He took my bite, last night.’ Derek’s chest puffed out.

‘Wasn’t that your first date?’ When Derek said nothing, Erica just laughed. ‘Way to go, big guy. Lock it down fast.’

Derek flushed, but he couldn’t hide the smile. ‘I’m… I’m very proud to be part of your pack, Erica.’

She stared at him, then threw herself into his arms, squeezing him hard.

‘You  _ cutie pie _ ,’ she muttered against his ear. ‘We’re happy to have you, honey.’

She released him, and grinned at Tesni, who seemed surprised to be the focus of her attention.

‘A born wolf, in the McCall pack. Never thought I’d see the day.’ She laughed, a joyful sound free of judgement. ‘Are you heading to  _ Hot Joe? _ ’

It took a second for Derek to remember that was the name of the coffee shop down the street.

‘You guys want anything?’

She beamed. ‘Two vanilla lattes, Isaac and I are basic bitches. Stiles likes lychee boba with plain tapioca.’

‘In the morning?’

‘He says sugar fuels his spark. I think he’s just a slut with a sweet tooth.’ She paused, then added: ‘we all like pastries, though. Any kind.’

He smiled. ‘Got it. I’ll be back in five.’

He glanced over at the back of the shop, towards the stairs to Stiles’ apartment, and was surprised to see Jedza staring at him, her eyes sharp.

Her and Stiles’ ability to stretch their limit was astonishing. He smiled at her, and she spoke - that strange kind of in-his-head language that was similar to the way he and Tesni communicated, but not quite.

Not for the first time, Derek wondered if Jedza was more magickal than a normal Daemon, the way Stiles was more than a normal human.

_ Don’t go _ , she said.

‘I’ll be back in a minute, Jedza.’

Erica followed his gaze, and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

The Daemon glared.

Tesni pottered to her side, gave her an affectionate lick, and then came back to Derek. With a small wave, the two of them headed outside.

‘What was that about? Derek asked.

‘ _ Jedza gets nervous sometimes,’  _ Tesni said.  _ ‘It hurt her, when Stiles’ mother left. She doesn’t like to be left behind.’ _

Derek’s heart stuttered. He patted his Daemon. ‘We won’t leave.’

She  _ chuffed _ in agreement. Together, they headed down the street, ducking off of Main to take a quieter back-route to the coffee shop.

‘ _ I like being in love _ ,’ Tesni said.  _ ‘It feels scary and good.’ _

‘It does, doesn’t it?’

Derek opened his mouth to say something else, but no words came out.

He slapped his hand to his neck, chasing the sensation of a bee-sting, and felt glass and metal under his fingertips. 

He swayed on his feet and looked around for Tesni. His head felt like it was full of cotton, and then his stomach dropped to his feet at the overwhelming sensation of  _ wrong  _ that could only mean…

A strange, rabid-looking male alpha-wolf had Tesni by the throat, restraining her like it was nothing, like he wasn’t grabbing and  _ hurting _ Derek’s very soul without permission.

Derek tried to growl, but his legs buckled beneath him.

His vision went black around the edges, and his heartbeat slowed. With the last of his wherewithal, he raised his wrist to his lips and ripped it open, spraying blood all over the alley.

The evil wolf’s nostrils flared, but he looked baffled by the act, and Derek felt a surge of pride.

‘Get him in the van. And leave the note for Stilinski,’ the alpha growled to unseen, dark figures who crowded Derek.

Derek felt distant panic, then pain, then nothing at all.


	7. In which Stiles retrieves what is his

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek's abductors weren't prepared for Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter everyone! Thank you so much for your comments and kudos they make me so happy x

Stiles had been woken up lots of different ways. Some, like the times Derek had woken him during the night, were  _ nice _ .

Some, like his dad spritzing him with a plant-mister, were less nice.

He had never, however, been woken by his Daemon literally clawing his face.

He sat bolt upright, eyes bleary, shaking Jedza off his chest in the process and slapping a hand to his face.

He was  _ bleeding _ . He stared at her, astonished.

‘Jedza,’ he said. ‘What the living  _ hell _ .’

_ ‘THEY TOOK HIM,’ _ she said, and wow - Stiles had never heard Jedza use that tone before. It was like her voice was echoed, like it was a scream from deep within Stiles’ own chest. ‘ _ THEY HURT HIM.’ _

Stiles felt everything go cold as his magick spilled out of him, panicked and aimless. ‘Derek?’

‘ _ I felt someone bad grab Tesni _ ,’ Jedza said.

They’d talk about that later. Talk about the fact that Jedza could feel Tesni’s distress, her pain. 

For now, Stiles leapt out of bed and hauled on jeans, sneakers and a hoodie over his bare chest. He tied his emergency tool-belt around his hips - an adapted workman’s belt covered in heavy pouches holding tools of sorcery.

He found Derek’s note in the kitchen, and fought the urge to panic. Instead, his whipped out his phone and called Scott as he stormed downstairs, into the shop. He ignored the two teenage girls giggling by the Ouija boards and put his alpha on speakerphone, beckoning Erica and Isaac closer.

_ ‘Dude,’  _ Scott sounded breathless. ‘ _ I was just gonna call. I can’t feel Derek. _ ’

As alpha, Scott had a vague sense of where everyone in his pack was. Stiles had to cast spells to feel something similar, but for Scott, it was an instinct. It had probably taken him a moment to realise where his sense of  _ wrong _ was coming from, especially as the bond with Derek was so new.

‘I know,’ Stiles said. Erica’s eyes were wide, and Isaac looked shocked and horrified.

‘He went to  _ Hot Joe’s  _ like ten minutes ago,’ Erica said.

‘Scott, you stay with Kira - if this is the guys from the other night, we don’t know what kind of bullshit they could be pulling,’ Stiles ordered.

Kira had to be the priority. Stiles had to remind himself of that, even as it  _ hurt _ , because a newborn wolf-cub was like horrifying golddust to a particular kind of warlock.

‘ _ What are you going to do? _ ’ Scott asked.

‘I’m going to get him back. I’ll check in with Dad and Boyd as I go.’

‘ _ Be careful, Stiles. Kira isn’t the only valuable pack member.’ _

Isaac made a sad, keening sound. Early on in their pack, Stiles had been abducted on a pretty frequent basis, either by people who wanted to steal his innate power or wolves who wanted their own pet sorcerer.

‘Don’t worry about me.’ Stiles hung up, and said to Erica: ‘stay here and keep the pack informed, ok? If you don’t hear from me in half an hour, call Boyd.’

He didn’t stay to see her nod. He scooped up Jedza, depositing her on his shoulder, and headed out down the street.

There was no sign of Derek by  _ Hot Joe _ , and Stiles felt like he was going to cry.

_ ‘The alley,’ _ Jedza said. ‘ _ I smell blood. _ ’

Stiles bolted, his heart in his throat, and sure enough, there was a slash of scarlet across the filthy concrete, the blood still wet and fresh.

Jedza hopped down from his shoulder and inspected it. A moment later, she returned to a frozen Stiles with a folded piece of paper in her little mouth.

It looked like it had been written in haste by someone with a third-grade education. Stiles let his magick flow over it - the air around him grew cold with it - and he knew the author was a wolf.

_ Come find us, little witch. Come alone and your wolf doesn’t have to die. _

Stiles called his dad.

‘ _ Hey, kiddo _ .’

‘Dad, our newest pack member has been abducted. If I can get a read on the location, can you have squad cars ready? They’ll have protection wards on the property, you won’t want to get too close until I give you the signal.’

A beat of silence, then: _ ‘call me when you find the edge of the wards and keep the line live in your pocket. Just give the signal and we’ll be with you.’ _

‘Their protection wards might fry electronics, Dad. If these are the same guys from the other day, they’ve got plenty of juice.’ He paused. ‘Look for red sparks. Now, hold on, I’ll get his location.’

Stiles tucked the phone between his ear and his shoulder, dipped his finger into the cooling blood, and wiped it on his closed eyelids, his voice breaking just a little as he uttered the syllables of a spell he’d used far too many fucking times.

‘He’s in some kind of barn,’ Stiles said. ‘Its roof has holes in it, maybe it’s abandoned? I can see… I think it might be milking equipment, but it’s rusted and kind of old-fashioned.’

‘ _ The old Neilsen dairy. West out of town, about two miles.’ _

‘I love how you do that, Dad.’

‘ _ Yeah, well, spend twenty years on patrol and you’ll sound like Google Maps, too.’ _ A pause, then: ‘ _ Is it Derek?’ _

‘Y-yeah.’ Stiles took a deep breath and opened his eyes, the magick fading.

_ ‘Try not to kill anyone, kid. Even if they deserve it.’ _

‘Love you, Dad.’

Stiles hung up, fired off a text to the pack WhatsApp, and ran to his jeep, firing up the engine and gunning it. Jedza sat on the passenger seat, her eyes evil and intent.

As they got closer, Stiles’ overflowing power turned from ice to electricity. It made his hair stand on end and his fingertips crackle.

They were still red with Derek’s blood. Stiles knew, intellectually, there hadn’t been anywhere near enough blood to indicate a wolf who’d been truly hurt, but it didn’t make him feel any better.

He glanced at Jedza, and thought of Freja, flickering, unable to keep herself together without her soulmate.

When Stiles had been younger, he’d been the victim in his abductions. The magick his mother had taught him had been hedge-witch stuff - healing, fortune-telling, summoning charms.

Stiles hadn’t liked being the victim. He hadn’t liked watching his pack - his  _ family _ \- risk themselves to save his skin.

So he heard learnt. He had evolved.

Whatever these idiots thought they’d be getting by kidnapping Stiles’ lover and inviting him to the middle of nowhere, they’d made a very bad bet.

Stiles found the turning and let his magick flow outwards, searching for the wards.

He stopped just short of them, turned off his engine, and stepped out of his jeep.

He could see the barn in the distance. Jedza took off into the high grass, her little form disappearing, and he stepped over the line of the wards.

He felt ripples going out into the air. 

Good. Let them know that he was here. Let them know that he’d found them before Derek’s blood was even cold.

He’d have his mate back before lunchtime.

There were two warlocks at the barn doors, their faces obscured.

‘Well?’ Stiles asked. ‘Aren’t you going to  _ announce _ me?’

One of them reached back and knocked on the barn doors, an odd staccato pattern.

_ Yeah, idiots. If you set your wards up to fry tech, that means no walkie-talkies, and you have to communicate in knock-codes like kids in a bunk bed. _

After a moment, the barn door creaked open. Stiles rolled his eyes at the drama, and stepped inside, the warlocks falling into pace behind him.

A group of ragged looking wolves stood in the middle, surrounded by young men thrumming with stolen power.

Derek was slumped on the floor, his expression taut with pain, and Stiles realised all at once that Tesni was nowhere to be seen.

‘Where is his Daemon?’ he snapped, in the wolves’ general direction.

They looked a little surprised. As if they hadn’t expected him to be so direct, or his voice so clear.

An alpha-wolf - tall, male and looking like a felony assault charge made flesh - stepped forward, an ugly expression on his face.

‘Stiles Stilinski-’ he began.

‘Where. Is. His. Daemon,’ Stiles snapped.

A female wolf snickered. ‘Where’s yours, little witch? Is your soul so small you can hide it up your sleeve?’

That was always people’s first thought, when they saw a man with no Daemon: that his Daemon was tiny. A small rodent, or insect, or even a little bird - something timid he could wear, hidden, close to his chest.

The alpha raised his hand, silencing the female. ‘Emissary Stilinski, his Daemon is fine. We’re just keeping them far enough apart to keep him… compliant.’

Stiles felt his blood boil, but fought to keep his temper.

‘Why did you bring me here?’

The alpha leered. ‘You fought off our first attempt to… talk to you. We thought it would be easier if you came to us, and we had leverage, to keep you… compliant.’

Stiles bit his tongue. He knew from experience to let the bad guy monologue.

Sure enough, the alpha came closer, his smile widening.

‘I was a warlock before I took the bite,’ he said. ‘I thought it would strengthen my power, but the lycanthropy just destroyed all the magick I’d worked so hard to gain. I’d killed for it, Emissary Stilinski, and it was just… gone.  _ Poof! _ ’

_ Cool,  _ Stiles thought.  _ This guy’s a lunatic _ .

‘But I still have my knowledge of the ways of the warlock. I train my acolytes. I hunt witches for them, and they absorb their power, and our pack gets stronger. Our warlocks give each of our wolves an alpha’s strength.’ 

Stiles thought of the body in the morgue, and his stomach roiled. The corpse had been so totally drained of power, Stiles hadn’t even recognised it as a witch.

‘We thought we could capture you while your packmates were moon-drunk, but we didn’t bank on the banshee. Poor planning, on our part.’

The alpha drew closer. He reached out one hand and wrapped it around Stiles’ throat.

On the floor, Derek thrashed, his eyes red and wild.

‘We don’t have to kill you. Give us your sorcery, and we’ll give the wolf back his Daemon and let him go.’

Stiles looked the idiot dead in the eyes and shot him in the chest.

The alpha stumbled back and Stiles uttered words of power, stilling everyone else in the room. A few hovered in mid air, Stiles’ sorcery like black smoke around them. 

The alpha scrabbled at his gaping chest cavity, looking for the wolfsbane buckshot. Stiles used the hand not holding the gun to keep the idiot-wolf-pack still and incapacitated, his hand twisted into a claw-like position of power, re-holstered his saw-off shotgun, and selected a flare gun, which he fired through one of the holes in the barn roof.

That task done, he lifted every single warlock and wolf - a dozen in total - into the air, then slammed them on the ground.

He picked them up again, and slammed them down once more.

‘You are all  _ assholes _ ,’ he spat. ‘One of you better tell me where his fucking Daemon is or I’m going to start killing and call it self-defence.’

The female wolf was the first to break, after Stiles had smacked her alternately into the ceiling and floor about six times.

‘She’s in the outhouse!’

Stiled clenched his fist and the whole parcel of idiots slammed together into one chunky ball of people. He dropped them like a stone onto the ground and, with a combination of a herb-infused stick of chalk and some muttered incantations, drew a circle around them to contain them and keep his stilling-spell effective.

The alpha bled out on the floor. Stiles used a combination of kicks and magick to get him into the circle with his idiot peers.

Confident none of them were going anywhere, Stiles rushed to Derek’s side. Jedza reappeared and climbed into the wolf’s lap, mewing piteously, and Stiles used another too-familiar spell to burn through the wolfsbane bindings, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

‘My dad’s on his way. I’ll get Tesni, just hold on, ok?’

Derek held Jedza close with one hand, and used the other to grab Stiles’ hoodie and pull him in for a kiss.

It was messy. Their teeth  _ clacked _ together, and Derek bit none-too-gently on Stiles’ lip, but the witch felt some of the tension ease out of him.

Stiles let him go, reluctantly, and quickly hunted down the outhouse, where Tesni was squashed into a puppy crate, whining softly.

He’d barely opened the door when she knocked him to the ground, licking his face, and his arms went around her big body to hold her close.

‘It’s ok, sweetheart.’ He buried his face in her fur and felt Derek, in his chest, the core of him, intimate and pure and  _ safe _ , thank fuck.

Which, of course, is how Sheriff Stilinski found them.

To his credit, the older man sounded thoroughly unsurprised to find his son cuddling another man’s Daemon. On his shoulder, Freja - in rabbit form - watched the proceedings with interest, her tiny nose twitching.

‘Didn’t you two just have your first date?’ he asked. ‘I just found Derek clutching Jedza like a teddy bear, and she wasn’t even mad about it.’

‘Did you see him, dad? Gotta lock that shit down.’ Stiles stood - he kept one hand on Tesni, uncaring of who saw. ‘You got the bad guys?’

‘Just need you to take down your wards. You bespelled the ever-loving  _ hell _ out of those people.’

Together, they went back into the barn. Boyd had Derek on his feet, but to his credit, the wolf didn’t seem anything but badly shaken. At the sight of Stiles and Tesni, he was at their side in a heartbeat, his arms wrapping around Stiles and digging into his Daemon’s fur.

Stiles oversaw the police handling of the incident with ease - this was not his first rodeo, and while he’d killed the rogue alpha in self-defence on McCall pack lands, he still needed to give a statement.

One of his dad’s deputies, a young woman Stiles didn’t recognise, asked: ‘the Sheriff just let you walk in here alone?’

Stiles snorted. ‘Does it look like I needed help? You should Google me - this doesn’t even make my top ten.’

When she walked away, Derek piped up: ‘you know that’s stupid hot, don’t you?’

‘Yeah? You like when I break the laws of physics for you?’ Stiles said, low and sweet, and felt Derek laugh.

‘I… I liked knowing you’d come for me. I didn’t expect it to be so fast.’

‘That’s the Stilinski guarantee. Your abduction foiled in 90 minutes or less, or your money back.’

They were home before lunch, so Stiles made bagels and lox and Derek made coffee in a French press. Stiles told stories of other abductions, foiled, and made Derek laugh into his mug, spraying coffee everywhere.

They had other dates. After two months, in August, Derek moved in, and no one was overly surprised - the Sheriff barely had his heart in it when he read the wolf the riot act. 

Laura visited them in September, dragging her mother and little sister, Cora, with her.

She bonded with Erica. It was terrifying.

Talia gave Scott the benefit of her experience. She gave Derek a hug that lasted five minutes, and she gave Stiles access to a Google Photos album full of pictures of Derek’s awkward phase.

Life went on. Peaceful and messy and perfect.

And Stiles let himself enjoy anticipating the future he’d read in his soulmate’s palm.


	8. In which there is an epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the end, there's joy and chaos to come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An incredibly mushy ending for you! Next AU on the way soon x

Rowen opened the door on the morning of her sixteenth birthday, sighed, and called her grandfather.

‘Hey, Pops,’ she said, dropping to a crouch over the wicker basket on the stoop. What a bloody cliche.

‘ _ Hi, sweetpea! Happy birthday! _ ’ On the other end of the line, her Pops launched into a very off-key and very enthusiastic birthday song.

Not even  _ the _ happy birthday song. No, this was an original composition he’d apparently sung to her father.

‘Pops,’ she groaned, fighting a smile and drawing back the blanket in the basket, ‘I’m calling for a reason.’

He stopped dead. ‘ _ You ok, Ro?’ _

‘I’m fine. But there’s a baby on our doorstep. Again.’

A pause, then:  _ ‘fuck. _ ’

Rowen laughed. The baby - a pretty, brand-new-looking little thing with soft blue skin - gurgled.

She wiggled her fingers in front of its face. On her shoulder, her Daemon - a small, snowy owl named Sirocco - waved one curled claw.

‘ _ Are your dads home? _ ’ 

‘Yeah. They sent me downstairs so they could get my birthday surprise ready, whatever that is.’

_ ‘How many is it this year? _ ’

‘Two. And it’s only August.’ She put the phone on speaker and scooped up the kid. ‘It’s blue, but not cold? And… hey, definitely a boy.’

_ ‘Could be a pixie of some kind. WIngs?’ _

Rowen inspected. Sure enough, gossamer-fine, jeweled insect wings lay tiny and helpless against the baby’s back. A second glance showed he had pointed little ears.

He cooed at her.

‘Yeah, looks like a pixie, but the local pixies are green-skinned, right? Hold on, there’s a note.’

Rowen opened up the crumbled card at the bottom of the basket. It was a generic postcard with a watercolour landscape of Beacon Hills, and on the reverse, it said in feminine handwriting:  _ please take care of my baby. Tell him I wish it could have been different. _

She relayed this message to her grandfather as she deftly shrugged off her hoodie and swaddled the kid in it.

Rowen was good with kids. Since her adoption at the age of ten, she’d been around countless babies, from wolfcubs to, on one memorable occasion, a kelpie foal.

_ ‘Pixie gestation periods are fast _ ,’ her Pops said, thoughtfully.  _ ‘It’ll be hard to track down the mother. She might even be human, maybe religious? Plenty of religious nuts would still drown a blue-skinned baby.’ _

The baby made a noise of distress, maybe because Rowen had tensed.

‘ _ Oh, honey, I’m sorry - I shouldn’t have said that. Look, I’ll send someone supernatural-friendly down to check it out. Could you ask your dads to let me know what they want to do? _

Rowen  _ shhhed _ the baby, and rolled her eyes. She knew exactly what her dads were doing to do - she’d seen them do it over and over again.

‘Sure thing. See you later, Pops.’

She peered down into the basket. ‘You gonna come out, little guy? No one’s gonna hurt you here.’

A shiny black beetle crawled out from between two strands of wicker and flickered quickly between forms, distressed.

Snake, bird - very briefly, but upsettingly - a fish. FInally it landed on a massive, iridescent green beetle, about the size of Rowen’s closed fist.

Rowen dropped Sirocco into the basket, and her Daemon affectionately settled beside the newborn little Daemon.

Holding the pixie against her shoulder with one hand, she picked up the basket with the other and went back inside the house.

‘Guys?’ she called out at the closed kitchen door. ‘Can I come in?’

There was a rustling noise, a  _ thud _ , and the sound of her littlest sister, Morwenna, giving a half-hearted cry.

‘Not ready!’ her dad shouted. ‘Give us five!’

The more steady voice of her papa added, ‘realistically, honey, he’s gonna need ten.’

‘Not if I-’

‘No magick!’

Morwenna screamed. Rowen rolled her eyes and opened the door to find a scene of total bedlam.

There was a cake shaped like the Millennium Falcon, but a toddler-sized hole had been dug into the side - she’d put money on three-year-old Cassandra. A supermarket box of cupcakes was open, and it looked like her dad - it was absolutely her dad - had tried to patch the hole with other cake.

Her papa believed that things you did for family should be done with real effort, not magick.

Which meant that her dad’s presents usually went kind of like this.

Several of the cupcakes had been stolen by Cassandra and another sister, Iris, who at seven might know better but certainly didn’t have any impulse control. The two girls were  _ covered _ .

Rowen’s brother, ten-year-old Riley, was, along with Papa, on the floor attempting to wrap a snowboard in Winnie-the-Pooh wrapping paper. Riley had tape in his hair.

The entire Stilinski-Hale family went very still at the sight of her. Well, except for Morwenna, who stopped crying and waved both her fat little hands at her big sister.

‘Fuck,’ Stiles breathed, his arms covered in food colouring and icing up to the elbow.

‘Fuck!’ Cassandra yelled, and her dad immediately turned bright pink.

‘Sorry, Cassie honey, that’s a bad, bad word. No more of that word, ok?’

Papa rose with his customary grace and crossed the kitchen, carefully avoiding toy trucks and stood in front of Rowen and the baby.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, almost absent-mindedly, and Rowen felt a familiar rush of desperate, joyous love.

She and Riley had been surrendered into foster care when she was nine and he was only three. She’d fought tooth and nail to keep them together, but no one wanted to foster two siblings with such a big age gap, and certainly no one wanted two supernatural beings or undetermined origins or power.

Rowen’s birth mother had always said they were  _ protectors _ , but she hadn’t been able to protect herself from cruel men, or protect her children from a cruel world when she passed away.

Stiles and Derek Stilinski-Hale had taken them in as a temporary measure, after it became clear that Rowen and children’s homes didn’t mix.

They’d only just adopted baby Iris, their first foster kid, and their lives had been chaos, but witch and wolf had made Rowen and Riley feel safe for the first time in their short lives.

They’d asked to adopt them on Rowen’s tenth birthday. Every year, it was a double-anniversary.

Derek, Rowen’s Papa, inspected the baby. His Daemon, Tesni, sniffed him delicately.

The baby, in turn, seemed committed to being as cute as possible.

‘He was on the doorstep,’ Rowen said. ‘I already called Grandpa, he’s sending someone from the station down.’

Stiles, her dad, edged over, keeping sticky hands away from the kid. ‘A pixie?’

‘A pixie boy,’ Rowen confirmed.

The baby gurgled, and Rowen saw the moment her dad melted.

He was a  _ sucker _ . There was a reason every supernatural being in three counties knew to leave their unwanted infants on the Stilinski-Hale doorstep.

That was how they’d wound up with Cassandra - a forest-sprite of indeterminate origins - and Morwenna, who was either a witch or an actual demon.

It was hard to tell, before she grew teeth.

‘He looks brand new,’ Stiles breathed. ‘Can I-’

Derek gently stopped his husband from reaching for the baby. ‘Wash your hands, first.’

Stiles reached up and dabbed some icing on Derek’s nose, but otherwise obeyed, flinging looks back over his shoulder at the baby.

‘We can’t keep taking in kids,’ Derek said, softly.

Rowen would have agreed, except she saw the look in her papa’s eyes, and gently handed him the baby.

‘Sure, papa.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘I get to name this one, right? It’s my birthday.’

Derek deftly shifted the weight of the child, his big hands dwarfing the kid. He practically had hearts in his eyes, and Rowen thought he was adorable.

‘Let’s call him Baby Yoda, because he’s green,’ Riley piped up.

‘He’s blue, butt-face,’ she said, affectionately.

‘Nuh-uh!’

‘Children,’ Stiles said, drying his hands, ‘no one wants a baby Yoda more than me, but we need to accept that he’s a little smurfling. Smurf-ino. Smurflet.’

‘Stiles.’ Derek said, very softly. In a heartbeat, his husband was across the room and by his side.

Rowen wandered over to the remaining cupcakes and selected one, passing another to Iris.

‘All the others are boring colours,’ Stiles reasoned. ‘It would be kinda racist not to keep him.’

Out of their five kids, only Morwenna was white, and that was more sort of… chalky? No one was really sure what that meant, whether she was ethnically Scottish or ethnically vampire. 

Again, they were waiting for her to grow teeth before making a final call.

Rowen saw her Papa roll his eyes and knew that they’d won.

The officer who attended was Parrish, which was nice, because he’d also done the paperwork for Cassandra. He found the family eating cake, Stiles feeding the baby some of their emergency-newborn-supplies formula, Rowen showing her younger siblings how to properly wax a snowboard.

‘I’ve already put in a request for temporary custody,’ Parrish said immediately. ‘You guys thinking of keeping this one?’

Rowen looked up from her labors.

‘His name’s August,’ she said, and ignored the surprised stares from her dads. ‘We always have good luck in August.’

She didn’t see her dads share a glance, thinking of their early dates that first summer, of Derek’s rash and sudden proposal he barely got out before Stiles was kissing him senseless.

Parrish looked to the parents for confirmation, and Derek nodded firmly.

‘He’s August.’ He lifted the baby and kissed his soft head. ‘One of these years, we’ll have an uneventful summer.’

Stiles laughed. ‘You’d hate that.’

And later, with August asleep in the co-sleeper by their bed and Morwenna in the bigger crib on the other side of the room, Stiles climbed on top of his husband, let his magick spiral in black-smoke eddies around them. Jedza and Tesni slept at the foot of the bed, intertwined as always, their eyes watching with interest.

‘I think this is what you’d call a fulfilled prophecy,’ he said, casually. ‘I said six, didn’t I?’

‘You said five or six. I can’t believe you let our teenager name a baby.’

‘ _ Our _ teenager. Rowen’s just better than other kids, it’s a scientific fact.’

Derek opened his mouth, then closed it with a chuckle. ‘Point conceded.’

‘He’s pretty perfect, isn’t he? I’m almost entirely sure I’ll get over the urge to sing  _ I’m blue dabadidabadi _ at him by the time he’s old enough to be traumatised.’

Derek laughed, and swallowed the off-key rendition that followed with his lips and tongue.

He held his mate close, and his children slept, and all was right in the world.

_ Prophecy, fulfilled. _


End file.
